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CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 


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MRS. BURNETT'S 

EARLIER STORIES. 

BY 

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. 


LINDSAY’S LUCK, Price, 30 cts. 

KATHLEEN, Price, 40 cts. 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON, . . Price, 40 cts. 

THEO, . . . . . . ^ . Price, 30 cts. 

MISS CRESPIGNY, Price, 30 cts. 


*^*For sale by all booksellers., or ivi'll be sent., J>osi paid^ 
uJ>on receipt of the ^rice by the publishers., 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 

743 AND 745 Broadway, New York. 



u 


MUS. BURNETT'S EARLIER STORIES 


T H E O. 


BY 

/ 

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, 

Author of “Haworth’s,” “That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,” “Surly Tim 

AND OTHER StORIES.” 



NEW YORK : 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 

743 & 745 Broadway, 

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\ I < - 

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Copyright 

1879, 

By Charles Scribner’s Sons. 


New York : J. J. Little & Co., Printers^ 
10 to 20 Astor Place. 


These love stories were written for and 
printed in ''Peterson’s Ladies Magazine. ” 
Owing to the fact that this magazine was 
not copyrighted, a number of them have 
been issued in book-form without my con- 
sent, and representing the sketches to be 
my latest work. 

If these youthful stories are to be 
read in book form, it is my desire that 
my friends should see the present edition, 
which I have revised for the purpose, and 
which is brought out by my own pub- 
lishers. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

October ^ 1878. 



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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

An Unworn Trousseau 7 

CHAPTER II. 

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe 30 

CHAPTER HI. 

Priscilla and Marguerite 47 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Diary and a Visit 74 

CHAPTER V. 

Are You Like Her ? 97 

CHAPTER VI. 

Don’t Go Yet no 

5 


6 


Contents. 


CHAPTER VII. 


And Good-bye 127 

CHAPTER VIII. 

You ARE Making a Mistake 140 

CHAPTER IX. 

You HAVE Done no Wrong to Me 168 


“THEO.” 


CHAPTER 1. 

AN UNWORN TROUSSEAU. 

A HEAVY curtain of yellow fog rolled and 
drifted over the waste of beach, and rolled and 
drifted over the sea, and beneath the curtain 
the tide was coming in at Downport, and two 
pair of eyes were watching it. Both pair of 
eyes watched it from the same place, namely, 
from the shabby sitting-room of the shabby 
residence of David North, Esq., lawyer; and 
both watched it without any motive, it seemed, 
unless that the dull, gray waves and their dull 
moaning, were not out of accord with the 
watchers' feelings. One pair of eyes — a youth- 
ful, discontented black pair — watched it stead- 
ily, never turning away, as their owner stood 
in the deep, old-fashioned window, with both 
elbows resting upon the broad sill; but the 
other pair only glanced up now and then, 


8 


‘‘Theor 


almost furtively, from the piece of work Miss 
Pamela North, spinster, held in her slender, 
needle-worn fingers. 

There had been a long silence in the shabby 
sitting-room for some time — and there was not 
often silence there. Three rampant, strong- 
lunged boys, and as many talkative school-girls, 
made the house of David North, Esq., rather a 
questionable paradise. But to-day, being half- 
holiday, the boys were out on the beach dig- 
ging sand-caves, and getting up piratical bat- 
tles and excursions with the ^are-legged urchins 
so numerous in the fishermen's huts ; and Jo- 
anna and Elinor had been absent all day, so 
the room left to Theo and her elder sister was 
quiet for once. 

It was Miss Pamela herself who broke the 
stillness. 

‘^Theo," she said, with elder-sister-like as- 
perity, ‘‘ it appears to me that you might find 
' something better to do than to stand with your 
arms folded, as you have been doing for the 
ft last half hour. There is a whole basketful of 

the boy's socks that need mending, and " 

Pam ! " interrupted Theo, desperately, turn- 
ing over heXvshoulder a face more like the face 


‘^Theor 


9 


of some young Spanish gypsy than that of 
poor English solicitor’s daughter. ‘‘Pam,-^! 
should really like to know if life is ever worth 
having, if everybody’s life is like ours, or if there 
are really such people as we read of in books.” 

‘^You have been reading some ridiculous 
novel again,” said Pamela, sententiously. If 
you would be a little more sensible and less 
romantic, Theodora, it would be a great deal 
better for all of us. What have you been 
reading?” 

The gypsy face jmrned to the window again, 
half-impatiently. 

I have been reading nothing to-day,” was 
the answer. I should think you knew that — 
on Saturday, with everything to do, and the 
shopping to attend to, and mamma scolding 
every one because the butcher’s bill can’t be 
paid. I was reading Jane Eyre, though, last 
night. Did you ever read Jane Eyre, Pa- 
mela ? ” 

I always have too much to do in attending 
to my duty,” said Pamela, ‘‘ without wasting 
my time in that manner. I should never find 
time to read Jane Eyre in twenty years. I 
wish I could.” 




10 


‘‘Theor 


I wish you could, too,^^ said Theo, medi- 
tatively. I wish there was no such thing as 
duty. Duty always appears to me to be the 
very thing we don’t want to do.” 

Just at present, it is your duty to attend to 
those socks of Ralph and Arthur’s,” put in 
Pamela, dryly. Perhaps you had better see 
to it at once, as tea will be ready soon, and you 
will have to cut bread for the children.” 

The girl turned away from the window with 
a sigh. Her discussions on subjects of this 
kind always ended in the same unsatisfactory 
manner ; and really her young life was far from 
being a pleasant one. As the next in age to 
Pamela, though so many years lay between 
them, a hundred petty cares fell on her girlish 
shoulders, and tried her patience greatly with 
their weight, sometimes. And in the hard 
family struggle for every-day necessities there 
was too much of commonplace reality to admit 
of much poetry. The wearisome battling with 
life’s needs had left the mother, as it leaves 
thousands of women, haggard, careworn, and 
not too smooth in disposition. There was no 
romance about her. She had fairly forgotten 
her girlh(^od, it seemed to lie so far behind ; 


Theol 


II 


and even the unconquerable mother-love, that 
gave rise to her anxieties, had a touch of hard- 
ness about it. And Pamela had caught some- 
thing of the sharp, harassed spirit too. But 
Theo had a secret sympathy for Pamela, though 
her sister never suspected it. Pamela had a 
love-story, and in Theo’s eyes this one touch 
of forlorn romance was the silver lining to 
many clouds. Ten years ago, when Pamela 
had been a pretty girl, she had had a lover — 
‘‘poor Arthur Brunwalde Theo always men- 
tally designated him ; and only a week before 
her wedding-day, death had ended her love- 
story forever. Poor Pamela ! was Theo's 
thought — to have loved like Jane Eyre, and 
Agnes Wickfield, and Lord Byron, and to have 
been so near release from the bread-and-butter 
cutting, and squabbling, and then to have lost 
all. Poor Pamela, indeed ! So the lovely, im- 
pulsive, romance-loving younger sister cher- 
ished an interest in Pamela’s thin, sharp face 
and unsympathizing voice, and in picturing 
the sad romance of her youth was always se- 
cretly regardful of the past in her trials oL the 
present. 

As she turned over the socks in the basket. 


12 


‘^Theor 


she glanced up now and then at Pamela’s face, 
which was bent over her work. It had been a 
pretty face, but now there were faint lines upon 
it here and there; the features, once delicate, 
were sharpened, the blue eyes were faded, and 
the blonde hair faded also. It was a face 
whose youth had been its beauty, and its youth 
had fled with Pamela North’s happiness. Her 
life had ended in its prime ; nay, not ended, 
for the completion had never come — it was to 
be a work unfinished till its close. Poor Ar- 
thur Brunwalde indeed ! 

A few more silent stitches, and then the 
work slipped from Theo’s fingers into her lap. 

‘‘Pam,” she said, “were you ever at Lady 
Throckmorton’s ? ” 

A faint color showed itself on Pamela’s faded 
face. 

“Yes,” she answered, sharply. “ I was once. 
What nonsense is running in your mind now, 
for goodness’ sake? ” 

Theo flushed up to her forehead, no half 
flush; she actually glowed all over, her eyes 
catching a light where her delicate dark skin 
caught the dusky red. 

“ Don’t be cross, Pam,” she said, appealingly. 


^^Theor 


13 


I can’t help it. The letter she sent ta mam- 
ma made me think of it. Oh, Pam ! if I could 
only have accepted the invitation.” 

But you can’t,” said Pam, concisely. So 
you may as well let the matter rest.” 

I know I can’t,” Theo returned, her quaint 
resignation telling its own story of previous 
disappointments. I have nothing to wear, 
you know, and, of course, I couldn’t go there, 
of all places in the world, without something 
nice.” 

There was another silence after this. Theo 
had gone back to her work with a sigh, and 
Miss Pamela was stitching industriously. She 
was never idle, and always taciturn; and on 
this occasion her mind was fully occupied. 
She was thinking of Lady Throckmorton’s in- 
vitation too. Her ladyship was a half-sister 
of their father’s, and from the height of her 
grandeur magnanimously patronizing now and 
then. It was during her one visit to London, 
under this relative’s patronage, that Pamela 
had met Arthur Brunwalde, and it was through 
her that the match had been made. But when 
Arthur died, and she found that Pamela was 
fixed in her determination to make a sacrifice 


14 


‘‘Theor 


of her youth on the altar of her dead love, 
Lady Throckmorton lost patience. It was 
absurd, she said ; Mr. North could not afford 
it, and if Pamela persisted, she would wash 
her hands of the whole affair. But Pamela 
was immovable, and, accordingly, had never 
seen her patroness since. It so happened, 
however, that her ladyship had suddenly rec- 
ollected Theo, whose gypsy face had once 
struck her fancy, and the result of the sudden 
recollection was another invitation. Her let- 
ter had arrived that very morning at breakfast- 
time, and had caused some sensation. A visit 
to London, under such auspices, was more 
than the most sanguine had ever dared to 
dream of. 

I wish I was Theo,’' Joanna had grumbled. 
‘‘ She always gets the lion’s share of every- 
thing, because Elin and I are a bit younger 
than she is.” 

And Theo had glowed up to her soft, inno- 
cent eyes, and neglected the bread-and-butter 
cutting, to awaken a moment later to sudden 
despair. 

But — but I have nothing fit to wear, mam- 
ma,” she said, in anguished toneso 


^‘Theor 


15 


No/' answered Mrs. North, two or three 
new lines showing themselves on her harassed 
forehead ; and we can't afford to buy any- 
thing. You can’t go, Theo.” 

And so the castle which had towered so pro- 
misingly in the air a moment ago, was dashed 
to the dust with one touch of shabby gentili- 
ty's tarnished wand. The glow died out of 
Theo's face, and she went back to her bread- 
and-butter cutting, with a soreness of disap- 
pointment which was, nevertheless, not with- 
out its own desperate resignation. This was 
why she had watched the tide come in with 
such a forlorn sense of sympathy with the dull 
sweep of the gray waves, and their dull, creep- 
ing moan ; this was why she had been rash 
enough to hope for a crumb of sympathy even 
from Pamela; and this also was why, in de- 
spairing of gaining it, she bent herself to her 
unthankful labor again, and patched and 
darned until the tide had swept back again 
under the curtain of fog, and there was no 
more light, even for the stern taskmaster, pov- 
erty. 

The silence was effectually broken in upon 
after this. As soon as the street-lamps began 


i6 


Theoy 


to twinkle in the murkiness outside, the boys 
made their appearance — Ralph, and Arthur, 
and Jack — all hungry, and disheveled, and, of 
course, all in an uproar. They had dug a cave 
on the shore, and played smugglers all the 
evening; and one fellow had brought out a 
real cutlass and a real pistol, that belonged to 
his father, and they had played fighting the 
coast-guard, and they were as hungry as the 
dickens now ; and was tea ready, and wouldn’t 
Pam let them have some strawberry-jam. 

Pamela laid her work aside, and went out 
of the room, and then Ralph, who was in the 
habit of patronizing Theo occasionally, came 
to his favorite corner and sat down, his rough 
hands clasped around his knees, boy-fashion. 

I say, Theo,” he begun, I wonder how 
much it would cost a fellow to buy a cutlass — 
a real one? ” 

I don’t know,” Theo answered, indiffer- 
ently. I never bought a cutlass, Ralph.” 

No, of course, you never did. What would 
a girl want with a cutlass ? But couldn’t you 
guess now — just give a guess. Would it cost 
a pound?” 

“ I daresay it would,” Theo managed to re- 


‘‘Theo"' 17 

ply, with a decent show of interest. A good 
one.’’ 

‘‘Well, I’d want a good one,” said Ralph, 
meditatively ; “ but, if it would cost a pound, 
I shall never have one. I say, Theo, we never 
do get what we want at this house, do we ? ” 

“ Not often,” said Theo, a trifle bitterly. 

Ralph looked up at her. 

“ Look here,” he said, sagaciously. “ I know 
what you are thinking of. I can tell by your 
eyes. You’re thinking about having to stay 
at home from Lady Throckmorton’s, and it is 
a shame, too. If you are a girl, you could 
have enjoyed yourself in your girl’s way. I’d 
rather go to their place in Lincolnshire, where 
old Throckmorton does his hunting. The gov- 
ernor says that a fellow that was a good shot 
could bag as much game as he, could carry, 
and it wouldn’t take long to shoot either. I 
can aim first rate with a bow and arrow. But 
that isn’t what you want, is it? You want to 
go to London, and have lots of dresses and 
things. Girls always do ; but that isn’t my 
style.” 

“Ah^ Ralph!” Theo broke out, her eyes 
filling all at once. “ I wish you wouldn’t ! I 
2 


i8 


Theo: 


can’t bear to hear it. Just think of how I 
might have enjoyed myself, and then to think 
that — that I can’t go, and that I shall never 
live any other life than this ! ” 

Ralph opened his round Saxon eyes, in a 
manner slightly expressive of general dissatis- 
faction. 

Why, you’re crying ! ” he said. Con- 
found crying, you know. I don’t cry. because 
I can’t go to Lincolnshire. You girls are al- 
ways crying about something. Joanna and 
Elin cry if their shoes are shabby, or their 
gloves burst out. A fellow never thinks of 
crying. If he can’t get the thing he wants, 
he pitches in, and does without, or else makes 
something out of wood that looks like it.” 

Theo said no more. A summons from the 
kitchen came to her just then. Pam was busy 
with the tea-service, and the boys were hun- 
gry — so she must go and help. 

Pamela glanced up at her sharply as she 
entered, but she did not speak. She had 
borne disappointments often enough, and had 
lived over them to become seemingly a trifle 
callous to their bitterness in others, and, as j. 
have said, she was prone to silence. But it 


‘‘Theor 


19 


may be that she was not so callous after all, 
for at least Theo fancied that her occasional 
speeches were less sharp, and certainly she 
uttered no reproof to-night. She was grave 
enough, however, and even more silent than 
usual, as she poured out the tea for the boys. 
A shadow of thoughtfulness rested on her 
thin, sharp face, and the faint, growing lines 
were almost deepened ; but she did not 
snap,’’ as the children called it ; and Theo 
was thankful for the change. 

It was not late when the children went to 
bed, but it was very late when Pamela followed 
them ; and when she went up stairs, she was 
so pre-occupied as to appear almost absent- 
minded. She went to her room, and locked 
the door, after her usual fashion ; but that she 
did not retire was evident to one pair of listen- 
ing ears at least. In the adjoining bedroom, 
where the girls slept, Theo lay awake, and 
could hear her every movement. She was walk- 
ing to and fro, and the sounds of opening 
drawers and turned keys came through the 
wall every moment. Pamela had unaccount- 
able secret ways, Joanna always said. Her 
room was a sanctuary, which the boldest did 


20 


“Theor 


not dare to violate lightly. There were closets 
and boxes there, whose contents were reserved 
for her own eyes alone, and questions regard- 
ing them seldom met with any satisfactory 
answer. She was turning over these posses- 
sions to-night, Theo judged, from the sounds 
proceeding from her chamber. To be truth- 
ful, Theo had some curiosity about the mat- 
ter, though she never asked any questions. 
The innate delicacy which prompted her to 
reverence the forlorn aroma of long-withered 
romance about the narrow life had restrained 
her. But to-night she was so wide-awake, and 
Joanna and Elin were so fast asleep, that 
every movement forcing itself upon her ear, 
made her more wide-awake still. The turning 
of keys, and unlocking of drawers, roused her to 
wonder. Poor Pam ! What dead memories 
and coffined hopes was she bringing out to 
the dim light of her solitary candle ! Was it 
possible that she ever cried over them a little 
when there was no one to see her relaxing 
mood ? Poor Pam ! Theo sighed again, and 
was just deciding to go to sleep, if possible, 
when she heard a door open, which was surely 
Pamela's, and feet crossing the narrow corridor, 


^‘Theor 


21 


which was surely Pamela’s own, and then a 
sharp, yet soft, tap on the door, and a voice 
which could have been no other than Pamela’s, 
under any possibility. 

Theo ! ” it said, “ I want you for a short 
time. Get up.” 

Theo was out upon the floor, and had opened 
the door in an instant, wider awake than ever. 

Throw something over you,” said Pamela, 
in the dry tone that always sounded almost 
severe. ‘^You will take cold if you don’t. 
Put on a shawl or something, and come into 
my room.” 

Theodora caught up a shawl, and, stepping 
across the landing, stood in the light, the flare 
of the candle making a queer, lovely picture of 
her. The shawl she had wrapped carelessly 
over her white night-dress was one of Lady 
Throckmorton’s gracious gifts ; and although 
it had been worn by every member of the fam- 
ily in succession, and was frayed, and torn, and 
forlorn enough in broad daylight, by the un- 
certain Rembrandt glare of the chamber-can- 
dle, its gorgeous palm-leaf pattern and soft 
folds made a by no means unpicturesque or 
unbecoming drapery. 


22 


Theor 


Shut the door/' said Pamela. ‘‘ I want to 
speak to you." 

Theo turned to obey, wonderingly, but, as 
she did so, her eyes fell upon something which 
made her fairly start, and this something was 
nothing less than the contents of the opened 
boxes and closets. Some of said contents were 
revealed through raised lids ; but some of them 
were lying upon the bed, and the sight of them 
made the girl catch her breath. 

She had never imagined such wealth — for it 
seemed quite like wealth to her. Where had it 
all come from ? There were piles of pretty, 
lace-trimmed garments, boxes of handkerchiefs, 
ribbons and laces, and actually a number of 
dresses, of whose existence she had never 
dreamed — dresses quaint enough in fashion, 
but still rich and elaborate. 

‘‘ Why, Pam ! " she exclaimed, whose are 
they? Why have you never " 

Pamela stopped her with an abrupt gesture. 

They are mine," she said. I have had 
them for years, ever since Arthur — Mr. Brun- 
walde died. They were to have been my bridal 
trousseau, and most of them were presents 
from Lady Throckmorton, who was very kind 


Theol 


23 


to me then. Of course, you know well enough,’^ 
with dry bitterness, I should never have had 
them otherwise. I thought I would show them 
to you to-night, and offer them to you. They 
may be of use just now.’' 

She stopped and cleared her throat here, 
with an odd, strained sound : and before she 
went on, she knelt down before one of the open 
trunks, and began to turn over its contents. 

1 wish you to go to Lady Throckmorton’s,” 
she said, speaking without looking at the 
amazed young face at her side. ‘‘The life 
here is a weary one for a girl to lead, without 
any change, and the visit may be a good thing 
for you in many ways. My visit to Lady 
Throckmorton’s would have made me a happy 
woman, if death had not come between me and 
my happiness. I know I am not at fault in 
saying this to you. I mean it in a manner a 
girl can scarcely understand — I mean that I 
want to save you from the life you must lead 
if you do not go away from here.” 

Her hands were trembling, her voice, cold, 
as it usually was, trembled too, and the mo- 
ment she paused, the amazed, picturesque 
young figure swooped down upon her as it 


24 


TAeo, 


were, falling upon its knees, flinging its white- 
robed arms about her, and burying her in an 
unexpected confusion of black hair and orien- 
tal shawl, showering upon her loving, passion- 
ate little caresses. For the first time in her 
life, Theo was not secretly awed by her. 

Why, Pam ! she cried, the tears running 
down her cheeks. “Dear, old, generous Pa- 
mela ! Do you care for me so much — enough 
to make such a sacrifice? Oh, Pam ! I am only 
a girl as you say ; but I think that, because I 
am a girl, perhaps I understand a little. Do 
you think that I could let you make such a 
sacrifice ? Do you think I could let you give 
them to me — the things that were to have be- 
longed to poor, dead Arthur’s wife ? Oh, my • 
generous darling ! Poor dead Arthur ! and the 
poor young wife who died with him! ” 

For some time Pamela said nothing, but 
Theo felt the slender, worn form that her arms 
clasped so warmly, tremble within them, and 
the bosom on which she had laid her loving, 
impassioned face throb strangely. But she 
spoke at length. 

“ I will not say it is not a sacrifice,” she said. 
“I should not speak truly if I did. I have 


% 


Theol 


25 


never told you of these things before, and why 
I kept them ; because such a life as ours does 
not make people understand one another very 
clearly ; but to-night, I remembered that I was 
a girl too, once, though the time seems so far 
away ; and it occurred to me that it was in my 
power to help you to a happier womanhood 
than mine has been. I shall not let you refuse 
the things. I offer them to you, and expect you 
to accept them, as they are offered — freely.'* 

Neither protest nor reasoning was of any 
avail. The elder sister meant what she said, 
with just the settled precision that demon- 
strated itself upon even the most trivial occa- 
sions ; and Theo was fain to submit now, as 
she would have done in any smaller matter. 

When the things are of no further use, you 
may return them to me," Pamela said. A 
little managing will make everything as good as 
new for you now. The fashion only needs to be 
changed, and we have ample material. There 
is a gray satin on the bed there, that will make 
a very pretty dinner-dress. Look at it, Theo." 

Theo rose from her knees with the tears 
scarcely dry in her eyes. She had never seen 
such dresses in Downport before. These things 




26 


‘‘Theor 


of Pamela^s had only come from London the 
day of Arthur's death, and had never been 
opened for family inspection. Some motherly 
instinct, even in Mrs. North's managing econ- 
omy, had held them sacred, and so they had 
rested. And now, in her girl's admiration of 
the thick, trailing folds of the soft gray satin, 
Theodora very naturally half forgot her tears. 

‘‘Pamela!" she said, timidly, “Do you 
think I could make it with a train ? I never 
did wear a train, you know, and " 

There was such an appeal in her mellow- 
lighted eyes, that Pamela perceptibly softened. 

“You shall have half a dozen trains if you 
want them," she said ; and then, half-falter- 
ingly, added, “ Theo, there is something else. 
Come here." 

There was a little, carven ebony box upon 
the dressing-table, and she went to it and 
opened it. Upon the white velvet lining lay 
a pretty set of jewels — sapphires ; their clear 
pendants sparkling like drops of deep sea- 
water. 

“ They were one of Mr. Brunwalde's bridal 
gifts to me," she said, scarcely heeding Theo's 
low cry of admiration. “ I should have worn 


‘‘Theor 


27 


them upon my wedding-day. You are not so 
careless as most girls, Theodora, and so I will 
trust them to you. Hold up your arm, and let 
me clasp one of the bracelets on it. You have 
a pretty arm, Theo.’' 

It was a pretty arm in truth, and the flash- 
ing pendants set it. ofl to great advantage. 
Theo, herself, scarcely dared to believe her 
senses. Her wildest dreams had never pictured 
anything so beautiful as these pretty modest 
sapphires. Was it possible that she — she was 
to wear them! The whole set of ear-rings, 
necklace, bracelets, rings, and everything, with 
all their crystallized drops and clusters ! It 
was a sudden opening of the gates of fairy- 
land ! To go to London would have been hap- 
piness enough ; but to go so like an enchanted 
princess, in all her enchanted finery, was more 
than she could realize. A color as brilliant as 
the scarlet in Lady Throckmorton's frayed 
palm-leaf shawl, flew to her cheeks, she fairly 
clapped her hands in unconscious ecstasy. 

Oh, Pam ! " she cried, with pathetic grati- 
tude. How good you are — how good — how 
good 1 I can’t believe it ; I really can’t. And 
I will take such care of them — such care of 


28 


‘‘Theor 


every thing. You shall see the dresses are not 
even crushed, I will be so careful.'' And then 
she ended with another little shower of impul- 
sive caresses. 

But it was late by this time, and with her 
usual forethought — a forethought which no en- 
thusiasm could make her forget — Pamela sent 
her back to bed. She would be too tired to 
sew to-morrow, she said, prudently, and there 
was plenty of hard work to be done ; so, with 
a timid farewell kiss, Theo went to her room, 
and, in opening her door, awakened Joanna 
and Elin, who sat up in bed, dimly conscious 
of a white figure, wrapped in their august rela- 
tive's shawl, and bearing a candle to light up 
scarlet cheeks, and inconsistent eyes, and tan- 
gled black hair. 

I am going to London," the voice pertain- 
ing to this startling figure broke out. Joanna 
and Elin, do you hear ? I am going to Lon- 
don, to Lady Throckmorton's." 

Joanna rubbed her eyes sleepily. 

Oh, yes ! " she said, not too amiably, by any 
means. ‘‘ Of course you are. I knew you 
would. You are everlastingly going some- 
where, Theo, and Elin and I stay at home, as 


Theoi: 


29 


usual. Lady Throckmorton will never invite 
us, I know. Where are your things going to 
come from?’' snappishly. 

Pamela ! ” was Theo’s deprecating reply. 
‘‘They are the things that belonged to her 
wedding outfit. She never wore them after 
Mr. Brunwalde died, you know, Joanna, and 
she is going to lend them to me.” 

“ Let us go to sleep, Elin,” Joanna grumbled, 
drowsily. “We know all about it now. It’s 
just like Pam, with her partiality. She never 
offered to lend them to us, and we have wanted 
them, times and times, worse than ever Theo 
does now.” 

And then Theo went to bed also ; but 
did not sleep, of course ; only lay with eyes 
wide open to the darkness, as any other girl 
would have done, thinking excitedly of Pa- 
mela’s generous gifts, and of Lady Throckmor- 
ton, and, perhaps, more than once the strange 
chance which had brought to light again the 
wedding-day, that was never more than the 
sad ghost of a wedding, and the bridal gifts 
that had come to the bride from a dead hand. 


30 


“Theor 


CHAPTER II. 

MR. DENIS OGLETHORPE. 

A GREAT deal of hard work was done during 
the following week. The remodeling of the 
outfit was no light labor; but Pamela was 
steady to her trust, in her usual practical style. 
She trimmed, and fitted, and cut, until the 
always - roughened surface of her thin fore- 
finger was rougher than ever. She kept Theo 
at work at the smaller tasks she chose to 
trust to her, and watched her sharply, with no 
shadow of the softened mood she had given 
the candle-lighted bedroom a glimpse of. She 
was as severe upon any dereliction from duty 
as ever, and the hardness of her general de- 
meanor was not a whit relaxed. Indeed, some- 
times Theo found herself glancing up furtively 
from her tasks, to look at the thin, sharp face, 
and wondering if she had not dreamed that 
her arms had clasped a throbbing, shaken 
form, when they faced together the ghost of 
long dead love. 

But the preparations were completed at last. 


Theor 


31 


and the trunks packed ; and Lady Throckmor- 
ton had written to say that her carriage would 
meet her young relative on her arrival. So 
the time came when Theo, in giving her fare- 
well kisses, clung a little closely about Pa- 
mela's neck, and when the cab-door had been 
shut, saw her dimly through the smoky glass 
and the mistiness in her eyes ; saw her shabby 
dress, and faded face, and half longed to go 
back ; remembered sadly how many years had 
passed since she had left the dingy sea-port 
town to go to London, and meet her fate, and 
lose it, and grow old before her time in mourn- 
ing it ; saw her, last of all, and so was whirled 
up the street, and out of sight. And, in like 
manner she was whirled through the thronged 
streets of London, when she reached that city 
at night, only that Lady Throckmorton's vel- 
vet-lined carriage was less disposed to rattle 
and jerk over the stones, and more disposed 
to an aristocratic, easily-swung roll than the 
musty vehicle of the Downport cabman. 

There was a queer, excited thrill in her 
pulses as she leaned back, Avatching the gas- 
lights gleaming through the fog, and the peo- 
ple passing to and fro beneath the gaslights. 


32 


‘^Theor 


She was so near her journey’s end that she 
began to feel nervous. What would Lady 
Throckmorton look like ? How would she re- 
ceive her? How would she be dressed? A 
hundred such simple, girlish wonders crowded 
into her mind. She would almost have been 
glad to go back — not quite, but almost. She 
had a lingering, inconsistent recollection of 
the contents of her trunks, and the sapphires, 
which was, nevertheless, quite natural to a girl 
so young, and so unused to even the most triv- 
ial luxuries. She had never possessed a rich 
or complete costume in her life ; and there 
was a wondrous novelty in the anticipation of 
wearing dresses that were not remodeled from 
Pamela’s or her mother’s cast-off garments. 

When the carriage drew up before the door 
of the solid stone house, in the solid-looking, 
silent square, she required all her courage. 
There was a glare of gaslight around the iron 
gateway, and.a glare of gaslight from the open- 
ing door, and then, after a little confusion of 
entrance, she found herself passing up a stair- 
case, under the guidance of a servant, and so 
was ushered into a large, handsome room, and 
formally announced. 


‘‘Theor 


33 


An elderly lady was sitting before the fire 
reading, and, on hearing Theo's name, she 
rose, and came forward to meet her. Of 
course, it was Lady Throckmorton, and, having 
been a beauty in her long-past day, even at 
sixty-five Lady Throckmorton was quite an 
imposing old person. Even in her moment- 
ary embarrassment, Theo could not help no- 
ticing her bright, almond-shaped brown eyes,* 
and the soft, close little curls of fine snow-white 
hair, that clustered about her face, under her 
rich, black-lace cap. 

‘‘Theodora North, is it?’' she said, offering 
her a wrinkled, yet strong white hand. “ I am 
glad to see you, Theodora. I was afraid you 
would be too late for Sir Dugald’s dinner, and 
here you are, just in time. I hope you are well, 
and not tired.” 

Theo replied meekly. She was quite well, 
and not at all tired, which seemed to satisfy 
her ladyship, for she nodded her handsome old 
head approvingly. 

“Very well, then, my dear,” she said. “I 
will ring for Splaighton to take , you up stairs, 
and attend to you. Of course you will want to 
change your dress for dinner, and you have not 
3 


.* 


34 


‘^Theor 


4l much time. Sir Dugald never waits for any- 
body, and nothing annoys him more than to 
have dinner detained.'' 

Accordingly, greatly in awe of Sir Dugald, 
whoever he might be, 'Theodora was led 
out of the room again, and up another broad 
staircase, into an apartment as spacious and 
luxurious as the one below. There her toilet 
was performed, and there the gray satin was 
donned in some trepidation, as the most suita- 
ble dress for the occasion. 

She stepped before the full-length mirror to 
look at herself before going down, and as she 
did so, she was conscious that her waiting-wo- 
man was looking at her too in sedate approval. 
The gray satin was very becoming. Its elabo- 
rate richness and length of train changed the 
undeveloped girl, to whom she had given a 
farewell glance in the small mirror at Down- 
port, to the stateliest of tall young creatures. 
Her bare arm_s and neck were as soft and firm 
as a baby’s ; her face was all aglow with color. 
But for the presence of the maid, she would 
have uttered a little cry of pleasure, she was 
so new to herself. 

It was like a dream, the going down stairs in 


‘‘Theor 


35 


the light and brightness, and listening to the 
soft sweep of the satin-train ; but it was singu- 
larly undream-like to be startled, as she was, by 
the rushing of a huge Spanish mastiff, which 
bounded down the steps behind her, and bound- 
ing upon her dress, nearly knocked her down. 
The animal came like a rush of wind, and sim- 
ultaneously a door opened and shut with a 
bang ; and the man who came out to follow the 
dog, called to him in a voice so rough that it 
might have been a rush of wind also. 

Sabre ! ’’ he shouted. Come back, you 
scoundrel ! ’’ and then his heavy feet sounded 
upon the carpet. The deuce ! '' he said, in a 
low mutter, which sounded as though he was 
speaking half to her, half to himself. 

My lady’s protege\ is it ? The other Pa- 
mela ! Rather an improvement on Pamela, 
too. Not so thin.” 

Theo blushed brilliantly — a full-blown rose 
of a blush, and hesitated, uncertain what eti- 
quette demanded of her under the circumstan- 
ces. She did not know very much about 
etiquette, but she had an idea that this was 
Sir Dugald, whoever Sir Dugald might be. But 
Sir Dugald set her mind at rest on nearing her. 


36 


“Theor 


Good-evening, Theodora,’' he said, uncere- 
moniously. Of course it is Theodora.” 

Theo bowed and blushed more brilliantly 
still. 

All the better,” said this very singular in- 
dividual. Then I haven’t made a mistake,” 
and, reaching as he spoke, the parlor-door, at 
the foot of the stairs, and finding that the mas- 
tiff was stretched upon the mat, he favored him 
with an unceremonious, but not unfriendly kick, 
and then opened the door, the dog preced- 
ing them into the room with slow stateliness. 

You are a quick dresser, I am glad to see, 
Theodora,” said Lady Throckmorton, who 
awaited them. “ Of course, there is no need 
of introducing you two to each other. Sir 
Dugald does not usually wait for ceremonies.” 

Sir Dugald looked down at the lovely face 
at his side with a ponderous stare. He might 
have been admiring it, or he might not ; at 
any rate, he was favoring it with a pretty close 
inspection. 

believe Sir Dugald has not introduced 
himself to me,” said Theo, in some confusion. 

He knew that I was Theodora North ; but 
I—” 


Theo^ 


37 


Oh ! ” interposed her ladyship, as collect- ^ 

edly as if she had scarcely expected anything 
else, I see. Theodora — ^your uncle.'' 

By way of returning Theo's modest little 
recognition of the presentation. Sir Dugald 
nodded slightly, and after giving her another 
stare, turned to his mastiff, and laid a large, 
muscular hand upon his head. He was not 
a very prepossessing individual. Sir Dugald 
Throckmorton. 

Lady Throckmorton seemed almost entirely 
oblivious of her husband's presence ; she sol- 
aced herself by ignoring him. 

When they rose from the table together, 
the authoritative old lady motioned Theo to 
a seat upon one of the gay footstools near 
her. 

Corpe and sit down by me," she said. I 
want to talk to you, Theodora." 

Theo obeyed with some slight trepidation. 

The brown eyes were so keen as they ran over 
her. But she seemed to be satisfied with her 
scrutiny. 

‘‘You are a very pretty girl, Theodora," she 
said. “ How old are you ? " 

“ I am sixteen," answered Theo. 


38 


“Theo." 


Only sixteen/’ commented my lady. That 
means only a baby in Downport, I suppose. 
Pamela was twenty when she came to London, 
and I remember Well, never mind. Sup- 

pose you tell me something about your life at 
home. What have you been doing all these 
sixteen years ? ” 

I had always plenty to do,” Theo an- 
swered. I helped Pamela with the house- 
work and the clothes-mending. We did not 
keep any servant, so we were obliged to do 
everything for ourselves.” 

‘‘You were ?” said the old lady, with a side 
glance at the girl’s slight, dusky hands. “ How 
did you amuse yourself when your work was 
done? ” 

“We had not much time for amusements,” 
Theo replied, demurely, in spite of her discom- 
fort under the catechism ; “ but, sometimes, on 
idle days, I read or walked on the beach with 
the children, or did Berlin-wool work.” 

“ What did you read ? ” proceeded the au- 
gust catechist. She liked to hear the girl talk. 

“Love stories and poetry, and . sometimes 
history; but not often history — love stories 
and poetry oftenest.” 


Theo» 


39 


The clever old face was studying her with a 
novel sort of interest. Upon the whole, my 
lady was not sorry she had sent for Theodora 
North. 

“And, of course, being a Downport baby, 
you have never had a lover. Pamela never had 
a lover before she came to me.'' 

A lover. How Theodora startled and blushed 
now, to be sure. 

“No, madame," she answered, and in a per- 
fect wonder of confusion, dropped her eyes, 
and was silent. 

But the very next instant she raised them 
again at the sound of the door opening. Some- 
body was coming in, and it was evidently some- 
body who felt himself at home, and at liberty 
to come in as he pleased, and when the fancy 
took him, for he came unannounced entirely. 

Theo found herself guilty of the impropriety 
of gazing at him wonderingly as he came for- 
ward, but Lady Throckmorton did not seem at 
all surprised. 

“ I have been expecting you, Denis," she 
said. “Good-evening! Here is Theodora 
North. You know I told you about her." 

Theo rose from her footstool at once, and 


40 


‘‘Theor 


stood up tall and straight — a young sultana, 
the youngest and most innocent-looking of 
sultanas, in unimperial gray satin. The gentle- 
man was looking at her with a pair of the 
handsomest eyes she had ever seen in her 
life. 

Then he made a low, ceremonious bow, and 
having done this much, he sat down, as if he 
was very much at home indeed. 

I thought I would run in on my way to 
Broom Street,’" he said. I am obliged to go 
to Miss Gower’s, though I am tired out to- 
night.” 

Obliged ! ” echoed her ladyship. 

Well — yes,” the gentleman answered, with 
cool negligence. ‘‘ Obliged in one sense. I 
have not seen Priscilla for a week.” 

The handsome, strongly-marked old eye- 
brows went up. 

For a week,” remarked their owner, quite 
sharply. A long time to be absent.” 

It was rather unpleasant, Theodora thought, 
that they should both seem so thoroughly at 
liberty to say what they pleased before her, as 
if she was a child. Their first words had suf- 
ficed to show her that Miss Gower’s” — where- 


‘‘Theor 


41 


ever Miss Gower’s might be, or whatever order 
of place it was — was a very objectionable place 
in Lady Throckmorton’s eyes. 

‘^Well — ^yes,” he said again. It is rather 
a long time, to tell the truth.” 

He seemed determined that the matter 
should rest here, for he changed the subject 
at once, having made this reply, thereby prov- 
ing to Theo that he was used to having his own 
way, even with Lady Throckmorton. He was 
hard-worked, it seemed, from what he said, 
and had a great deal of writing to do. He 
was inclined to be satirical, too, in a careless ' 
fashion, and knew quite a number of literary 
people, and said a great many sharp things 
about them, as if he was used to them, and 
stood in no awe whatever of them and their 
leonine greatness. But he did not talk to her, 
though he looked at her now and then ; and 
whenever he looked at her, his glance was a 
half-admiring one, even while it was evident 
that he was not thinking much about her. 
He did not remain with them very long, 
scarcely an hour, and yet she was almost sorry 
to see him go. It was so pleasant to sit silent 
and listen to these two worldly ones, as they 


42 


‘‘Theor 


talked about their world. But he had prom- 
ised Priscilla that he would bring her a Greek 
grammar she required ; and a broken promise 
was a sin unpardonable in Priscilla's eyes. 

When he was gone, and they had heard the 
hall-door close upon him, the stillness was 
broken in upon by my lady herself. 

Well, my dear," she said, to Theodora, 
‘‘What is your opinion of Mr. Denis Ogle- 
thorpe ? " 

“ He is very handsome," said Theo, in some 
slight embarrassment. “And I think I like 
him very much. Who is Priscilla, aunt ? " 

She knew that she had said something 
amusing by Lady Throckmorton’s laughing 
quietly. 

“You are very like Pamela, Theodora," she 
said. “ It sounds very like Pamela — what Pa- 
mela used to be — to be interested in Pris- 
cilla." 

“ I hope it wasn’t rude ? ’’ fluttered the poor 
little rose-colored sultana. 

“ Not at all," answered Lady Throckmor- 
ton. “ Only innocent. But I can tell you all 
about Priscilla in a dozen words. Priscilla is 
a modern Sappho. Priscilla is an elderly 


young lady, who never was a girl — Priscilla is 
my poor Denis Oglethorpe's fiancee'' 

Oh ! " said Theodora. 

Her august relative drew her rich silk skirts 
a little further away from the heat of the fire, 
and frowned slightly ; but not at Theodora — 
at Priscilla, in her character of fiancee, 

*^Yes," she went on. ‘‘And I think you 
would agree with me in saying poor Denis 
Oglethorpe, if you could see Priscilla." 

“ Is she ugly?" asked Theo, concisely. 

“No," sharply. “I wish she was; but at 
twenty-two she is elderly, as I said just now 
— and she never was anything else. She was 
elderly when they were engaged, five years 
ago." 

“ But why — why didn't they get married five 
years ago, if they were engaged?" 

“ Because they were too poor," Lady Throck- 
morton explained ; “ because Denis was only 
a poor young journalist, scribbling night and 
day, and scarcely earning his bread and but- 
ter." 

“ Is he poor now ? " ventured Theo again. 

“ No," was the answer. “ I wish he was, if 
it would save him from the Gowers. As it is. 


44 


‘‘Theor 


I suppose, if nothing happens to prevent it, 
he will marry Priscilla before the year is out. 
Not that it is any business of mine, but that 
I am rather fond of him — very fond of him, 
I might say, and I was once engaged to his 
father.’' 

Theo barely restrained an ejaculation. Here 
was another romance — and she was so fond of 
romances. Pamela’s love-story had been a 
great source of delight to her; but if Mr. 
Oglethorpe’s father had been anything like that 
gentleman himself, what a delightful affair 
Lady Throckmorton’s love-story must have 
been. The comfortable figure in the arm- 
chair at her side caught a glow of the faint 
halo that surrounded poor Pam ; but in this 
case the glow had a more roseate tinge, and 
was altogether free from the funereal gray that 
in Pamela always gave Theo a sense of sym- 
pathizing discomfort. 

The next day she wrote to Pamela. 

I have not had time yet to decide how I like 
Lady Throckmorton,” she said. She is very 
kind to me, and asks a good many questions. I 
think I am a little afraid of her ; but, perhaps, 
that is because I do not know her very well. 


Theo, 


45 


One thing I am sure of, she doesn’t like either 
Sir Dugald and his dog very much. We had a 
caller last night — a gentleman. A Mr. Denis 
Oglethorpe, who is a very great favorite of 
Lady Throckmorton. He is very handsome, 
indeed. I never saw any one at all like him 
before — any one half so handsome and self- 
possessed. I liked him very much because he 
talked so well, and was so witty. I had on the 
gray satin when he came, and the train hung 
beautifully. I am glad we made it with a train, 
Pamela. I think I shall wear the purple cloth 
to-night, as Lady Throckmorton said that per- 
haps he might drop in again, and he knows so 
many grand people, that I should like to look 
nice. There seems to be a queer sort of friend- 
ship between aunt and himself, though some- 
how I fancied he did not care much about 
what she said to him. He is engaged to be 
married to a very accomplished young lady, 
and has been for several years ; but they were 
both too poor to be married until now. The 
young lady’s name is Priscilla Gower ; and 
Lady Throckmorton does not like her, which 
seems veiy^ strange to me. She is as poor as 
we are, I should imagine, for she gives French 


46 


Theo^ 


and Latin lessons, and lives in a shabby house. 
But I don’t think that is the reason Lady 
Throckmorton does not like her. I believe it 
is because she thinks she is not suited to Mr. 
Oglethorpe. I hope she is mistaken, for Mr. 
Oglethorpe is very nice indeed, and very clever. 
He is a journalist, and has written a book of 
beautiful poetry. I found the volume this 
morning, and have been reading it all day. I 
think it is lovely; but Lady Throckmorton 
says he wrote it when he was very young, and 
makes fun of it now. I don’t think he ought 
to, I am sure. I shall buy a copy before I re- 
turn, and bring it home to show you. I will 
write to mamma in a day or so. With kisses 
and love, and a hundred thanks again for the 
dresses, I remain, my dearest Pamela, your 
loving and grateful Theo.” 


“Theor 


47 


CHAPTER III. 

PRISCILLA AND MARGUERITE. 

But Denis Oglethorpe did not appear again 
for several days. Perhaps business detained 
him ; perhaps he went oftener to see Priscilla. 
At any rate, he did not call again until the end 
of the week. 

Lady Throckmorton was in her private room 
when he came, and as he made his entrance 
with as little ceremony as usual, he ran in upon 
Theodora. Now, to tell the truth, he had, 
until this moment, forgotten all about that 
young person's very existence. He saw so 
many pretty girls in a day’s round, and he was 
so often too busy to notice half of them — 
though he was an admirer of pretty girls — that 
it was nothing new to see one and forget her, 
until chance threw them together again. Of 
course, he had noticed Theodora North that 
first night. How could a man help noticing 
her? And the something beautifully over- 
awed and bashfully curious in her lovely, un- 
common eyes, had amused him. And yet, 


48 


Theor 


until this moment, he had forgotten her, with 
the assistance of proofs, and printers, and Pris- 
cilla. 

But when, after running lightly up the stair- 
case, he opened the drawing-room door, and 
saw a tall, lovely figure in a closely-fitting dress 
of purple cloth, bending over Sabre, and strok- 
ing his huge, tawny head with a supple little 
tender hand, he remembered. 

^‘Ah, yes!’' he exclaimed, in an admiring 
aside. ‘‘To be sure; I had forgotten Theo- 
dora.” 

But Theodora had not forgotten him. The 
moment she saw him, she stood up blushing, 
and with a light in her eyes. It was odd how 
un-English she looked, and yet how thoroughly 
English she was in that delicious, uncomforta- 
ble trick of blushing vividly upon all occasions. 
She was quite unconscious of the fact that the 
purple cloth was so becoming, and that its 
sweep of straight, heavy folds made her as 
stately as some Rajah’s dark-eyed daughter. 
She did not feel stately at all ; she only felt 
somewhat confused, and rather glad that Mr. 
Denis Oglethorpe had surprised her by com- 
ing again. How Mr. Denis Oglethorpe would 


Theoy 49 

have smiled if he had known what an innocent 
commotion his simple presence created ! 

Lady Throckmorton is up-stairs reading,” 
she explained. I will go and tell her you are 
here.” There were no bells in the house at 
Downport, and no servants to answer if any 
one had rang one, and, very naturally, Theo 
forgot she was not at Downport. 

Excuse me. No,” said Mr. Denis Ogle- 
thorpe. ‘‘ I would not disturb her on any ac- 
count ; and, besides, I know she will be down 
directly. She never reads late in the evening. 
This is a very handsome dog. Miss North.” 

^^Very handsome, indeed,” was Theo’s re- 
ply. ‘‘ Come here. Sabre.” 

Sabre stalked majestically to her side, and 
laid his head upon her knee. Theo 'stroked 
him softly, raising her eyes quite seriously to 
Mr. Oglethorpe’s face. 

He reminds me of Sir Dugald himself,” she 
said. 

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe smiled faintly. He was 
not very fond of Sir Dugald, and the perfect 
gravity and naivete with which this unsophist- 
icated young person had made her comment 
had amounted to a very excellent joke. 

4 


‘‘Theor 




SO 

Does he ? ’’ he returned, as quietly as pos- 
sible, and then his glance meeting Theo's, she 
broke into a little burst of horror-stricken self- 
reproach. 

“ Oh, dear ! '' she exclaimed. I oughtn’t to 
have said that, ought I ? I forgot how rude 
it would sound ; but indeed, I only meant that 
Sabre was so slow and heavy, and — and so in- 
different to people, somehow. I don’t think 
he cares about being liked at all.” 

She was so abashed at her blunder, that she 
looked absolutely imploring, and Mr. Denis 
Oglethorpe smiled again. He felt inclined to 
make friends with Theodora. 

There is a little girl staying at Lady 
Throckmorton’s,” he had said to Priscilla. ‘‘A 
relative of hers. A pretty creature, too, Pris- 
cilla, for a bread-and-butter miss.” 

But just at that moment, he thought better 
of the matter. What tender, speechful eyes 
slie had. He was aroused to a recognition of 
their beauty all at once. What contour there 
was in the turn ot arm and shoulder under the 
close-fitting purple cloth. He was artistically 
thankful that there was no other trimming of 
the straight bodice than the line of buttons 


"‘^Theor 51 

that descended from the full white ruff of 
swansdown at her throat, to her delicate, trim 
waist. Her unconscious stateliness of girlish 
form, and the conscious shyness of her man- 
ner, were the loveliest inconsistency in the 
world. 

‘‘Oh, I shall not tell Sir Dugald,'' he said to 
her, good-humoredly. “ Besides, I think the 
comparison an excellent one. I don't know 
anything in London so like Sir Dugald as Sir 
Dugald’s dog." 

Theodora stroked Sabre apologetically, but 
could scarcely find courage to speak. She had 
stood somewhat in awe of Mr. Denis Ogle- 
thorpe, even at first, and her discomfort was 
rapidly increasing. He must think her dread- 
fully stupid, though he was good-humored 
enough to make light of her silly speech. Cer- 
tainly, Priscilla never made such a silly speech 
in her life; but then how could one teach 
French and Latin, and be anything but pon- 
derously discreet. 

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe waS not thinking of 
Priscilla's wisdom, however; he was thinking 
of Theodora North; he was thinking that he 
must have been very blind not to have seen 


52 


‘‘Theor 


before that his friend’s niece was a beauty of 
the first water, young as she was. But he had 
been tired and fagged out, he remembered, on 
the first occasion of their meeting — too tired 
to think of anything but his appointment at 
Broome Street, and Priscilla’s Greek grammar. 
And, now, in recognizing what he had before 
passed by, he was quite glad to find the girl 
so young and inexperienced — so modest, in a 
sweet way. It was easy, as well as proper 
enough, to talk to her unceremoniously with- 
out the trouble of being diffuse and compli- 
mentary. So he made himself agreeable, 
and Theodora listened until she quite forgot 
Sir Dugald, and only remembered Sabre, be- 
cause his big, heavy head was on her knee, 
and she was stroking it. 

And you were never in London before ? ” 
he said, at length. 

No, sir,” Theo answered. This is the 
first time. I was never even out of Downport 
before.” 

Then we must take you to see the lions,” 
he said, if Lady Throckmorton will let us. 
Miss Theodora. I wonder if she would let 
us? If she would, I have a lady friend who 


Theoi, 


S3 


knows them all, from the grisliest downward, 
and I know she would like to help me to exhibit 
them to you. How should you like that ? 

‘^Better than anything in the world,’’ glow- 
ing with delighted surprise. If it wouldn’t 
be too much trouble,” she said, quite apologet- 
ically. 

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe smiled. 

It would be simply delightful,” he said. 
‘‘ I should like it better than anything in the 
world, too. We will appeal to Lady Throck- 
morton.” 

When Priscilla was in London ” Theo- 

dora was beginning a minute later, when the 
handsome face changed suddenly as her com- 
panion turned upon her in evident surprise. 

Priscilla? ” he repeated, after her. 

How stupid I am ! ” she ejaculated, dis- 
tressedly. I meant to say Pamela. My 
eldest sister’s name is Pamela, and — and ” 

‘‘ And you said Priscilla by mistake,” inter- 
posed Oglethorpe, with a sudden accession of 
gravity. “ Priscilla is a little like Pamela.” 

It needed nothing more than this simple slip 
of Theodora North’s tongue to assure him that 
Lady Throckmorton had been telling her the 


54 


Theor 


story of his engagement to Miss Gower, and, 
as might be anticipated, he was not as devoutly 
grateful to her ladyship as he might have been. 
He was careless to a fault in some things, and 
punctilious to a fault in others ; and he was 
very punctilious about Priscilla Gower. He 
was not an ardent lover, but he was a conscien- 
tiously honorable one, and, apart from his re- 
spect for his betrothed, he was very impatient 
of interference with his affairs ; and my lady 
was not chary of interfering when the fancy 
seized her. It roused his pride to think how 
liberally he must have been discussed, and, 
consequently, when Lady Throckmorton joined 
them, he was not in the most amiable of moods. 
But he managed to end his conversation with 
Theo unconstrainedly enough. He even gained 
her ladyship's consent to their plan. It was 
curiously plain how they both appeared to 
agree in thinking her a child, and treating her 
as one. Not that Theo cared about that. She 
had been so used to Pamela, that she would 
have felt half afraid of being treated with any 
greater ceremony; but still she could clearly 
understand that Mr. Oglethorpe did not speak 
to her as he would have spoken to Miss Gower. 


‘‘Theor 


55 


But free from any touch of light gallantry as 
his manner toward the girl was, Denis Ogle- 
thorpe did not forget her this night. On the 
contrary, he remembered her very distinctly, 
and had in his mind a very exact mental rep- 
resentation of her purple robe, soft white ruff, 
and all, as he buttoned up his paletot over his 
chest in walking homeward. But he thought 
of her carelessly and honestly enough, as a 
beautiful young creature years behind him in 
experience, and utterly beyond him in all pos- 
sibility of any sentimental fancy. 

The friendship existing between Lady 
Throckmorton and this young man was an in- 
consistent sentiment enough, and yet was a 
friendship, and a mature one. The two had 
encountered each other some years ago, when 
Denis had been by no means in his palmiest 
days. In fact, my lady had picked him up 
when he stood in sore need of friends, and 
Oglethorpe never forgot a favor. He never 
forgot to be grateful to Lady Throckmorton ; 
and so, despite the wide difference between 
their respective ages and positions, their mu- 
tual liking had ripened into a familiarity of 
relationship which made them more like elder 


56 


‘‘Theo." 


sister and younger brother than anything else. 
Oglethorpe, junior, was pretty much what 
Oglethorpe, senior, had been, and, notwith- 
standing her practical views. Lady Throckmor- 
ton liked him none the worse for it. She 
petted and patronized him, questioned and 
advised him, and if he did not please her, rated 
him roundly without the least compunction. 
In fact, she was a woman of caprices even at 
sixty-five, and Denis Oglethorpe was one of her 
caprices. 

And, in like manner, Theodora North be- 
came another of them. Finding her tractable, 
she became quite fond of her, in her own way, 
and was at least generous to lavishness in her 
treatment of her. 

‘‘You are very handsome, indeed, Theodo- 
ra,'' she said to her a few days after her arrival. 
“ Of course you knov/ that — ten times hand- 
somer than ever poor Pamela could have been. 
Your figure is perfect, and you have eyes like 
a Syrian, instead of a commonplace English 
woman. I am going to give you a rose-pink 
satin dress. Rose-pink is just your shade, and 
some day when we go out together, I will lend 
you some of my diamonds," 


^^Theoy 57 

After this whimsical manner she lavished 
presents upon her whenever she had a new 
fancy. In truth, her generosity was constitu- 
tional, and she had been generous enough 
toward Pamela, but she had never been so ex- 
travagant as she was with Theodora. Theo- 
dora was an actual beauty, of an uncommon 
type, in the face of her ignorance of manners 
and customs. Pamela had never, at her best, 
been more than a delicately pretty girl. 

In the meantime, Denis Oglethorpe made 
frequent calls as usual, and always meeting 
Theodora, found her very pleasant to talk to 
and look at. He found out her enthusiastic 
admiration for the poetic effusions of his youth, 
and in consideration thereof, good-humoredly 
presented her with a copy of the volume, with 
some very witty verses written on the fly-leaf 
in a flourishing hand. It was worth while to 
amuse Theodora, she was so pretty and unas- 
suming in her delight at his carelessly-amiable 
efforts for her entertainment. She was only a 
mere child after all, at sixteen, with Downport 
in the background ; so he felt quite honestly at 
ease in being attentive to her girlish require- 
ments. Better that he should amuse her than 


58 


‘‘Theor 


that she should be left to the mercy of men 
who would perhaps have the execrable taste to 
spoil her pretty childish ways with flattery. 

Don't let all these fine people and fine 
speeches turn your head, Theodora," he would 
say, in a tone that might either have been jest 
or earnest. They spoiled me in my infancy, 
and my unfortunate experience causes me to 
warn you." 

But whether he jested or not, Theo was al- 
ways inclined to listen to him with some de- 
gree of serious belief. She took his advice 
when it was proffered, and regarded his wis- 
dom as the wisdom of an oracle. Who should 
know better than he what was right? His in- 
difference to the rule of opinion could only 
be the result of conscious perfection, and his 
careless satires were to her the most brilliant 
of witticisms. He paid her his first compli- 
ment the night the rose -colored satin dress 
came home. 

They were going to see Faust together with 
Lady Throckmorton, and she had finished 
dressing early, and came down to the drawing- 
room, and there Denis found her when he came 
up-stairs — the thick, lustrous folds of satin bil- 


‘‘ Theoi: 


59 


lowing upon the carpet around her feet, some- 
thing white, and soft, and heavy wrapped about 
her. 

He was conscious of a faint shock of delight 
on first beholding her. He had just left Pris- 
cilla, pale and heavy-eyed, in dun-colored me- 
rino, poring over a Greek dictionary, and the 
sudden entering the bright room, and finding 
himself facing Theodora North in rose-colored 
satin, was a little like electricity. 

‘‘ Oh ! it's Theodora, is it ? " he said, slowly, 
when he recovered himself. Thank you, The- 
odora." 

What for?" asked Theo, blushing. 

For the rose-colored satin," he returned, 
complacently. It is so very becoming. You 
look like a sultana, my dear Theodora." 

Theo looked up at him for a second, and 
then looked down. Much as she admired Mr. 
Denis Oglethorpe, she never quite compre- 
hended him. He had such an eccentric fash- 
ion of being almost curt, sometimes. She had 
seen him actually give a faint start when he 
entered, and she had not understood that, and 
now he had paid her a compliment, but with 
so much of something puzzling hidden in his 


6o 


‘^Theor 


quiet-sounding voice, that she did not under- 
stand that either — and he saw she did not. 

I have been making a fine speech to Theo- 
dora,'' he said to Lady Throckmorton, when 
she came in. ‘‘And she does not comprehend 
it in the least." 

It was somewhat singular, Theo thought, 
that he should be so^ silent after this, for he 
was silent. He even seemed absent-minded, 
for some reason or other. He did not talk to 
her as much as usual, and she was quite sure 
he paid very little attention to Faust. 

But during the final act she found that he 
was not looking at the stage at all ; but was 
sitting in the shadow of the box-curtain watch- 
ing herself. She had been deeply interested 
in Marguerite a minute before, and, in her 
heart-touched pleasure, had leant upon the 
edge of the box, her whole face thrilled with 
excitement. But the steady gaze magnetized 
her, and drew her eyes round to the shadowy 
corner where Denis sat ; and she positively 
turned with just such a start as he himself had 
given when Theodora North, in rose-colored 
satin, burst upon him, in such vivid, glowing 
contrast to Priscilla Gower, in dun merino. 


^^Theor 


6i 


Oh ! '' she said, and though the little excla- 
mation was scarcely more than an indrawn 
breath, Denis heard it, and came out of his 
corner to take a seat at her side, and lean over 
the box edge also. 

‘‘ What is it, Theodora ? he asked, in a low, 
clear voice. Is it Marguerite ? '' 

She looked at him in a little fright at herself. 
She did not know why she had exclaimed — she 
scarcely knew how ; but when she met his un- 
embarrassed eyes, she began to think that pos- 
sibly it might be Marguerite. Indeed, a sec- 
ond later, she was quite sure it had been Mar- 
guerite. 

Yes — I think so,'' she faltered. Poor Mar- 

guerite ! If she could only have saved him?" 

‘‘ How? " he asked. 

I don't — at least I scarcely know ; but I 
think the author ought to have made her save 
him, someway. If — if she could have suffered 
isomething, or sacrificed something " 

Would she have done it if she could ? " 
commented Denis, languidly. He had quite 
recovered himself by this time. 

I would have done it if I had been Mar- 
guerite,'' Theo half whispered. 


62 


*‘‘Theo^: 




% 


In his surprise he forgot his self-possession. 
He turned upon her suddenly, and, meeting 
her sweet eyes, felt the faint, pained shock 
once more, and, strangely enough, his first 
thought was a disconnected one of Priscilla 
Gower. 

^‘You?'' he said, the next moment. ‘‘Yes, 
I believe you would, Theodora.'' 

He was sure she would, after that swift 

glance of his, and . Well, what a happy 

^"^ man he would be for whom this tender young 
'Ikviarguerite would suffer or be sacrificed. The 
idea had really never occurred to him before 
that Theodora North was nearly a woman ; but 
it occurred to him now with all the greater 
force, because he had been so oblivious to the 
fact before. 

He sat by her side until the curtain fell ; but 
his silent mood seemed to have come upon him 
again. He was very much interested in Mar- 
guerite after this, Theo thought ; but it is very 
much to be doubted whether he could have 
given a clear account of what was passing be- 
fore his eyes upon the stage. He did not even 
go into the house with them when they re- 
turned ; but as he stood upon the door-step, 


Theo^ 


63 


touching his hat in a final adieu, he was keenly 
alive to a consciousness of Theodore North 
at the head of the staircase with billows of 
glistening rose-pink satin lying on the rich car- 
pet about her feet, as she half turned toward 
him to bid him good-night. 

Bright as the picture was, it left a sense of 
discomfort, he could not explain why. He dis- 
missed the carriage, and walked down the 
street, feeling fairly depressed in spirits. 

He had, perhaps, never given the girl a 
thought before, unless when chance had thrown 
them together, and even then his thoughts had 
been common admiring ones. She had pleased 
him, and he had tried to amuse her in a care- 
less, well-meant fashion, though he had never 
made fine speeches to her, as nine men out of 
ten would have done. He had been so used 
to Priscilla, that it never occurred to him that 
a girl so young as this one could be a woman. 
And, after all, his blindness had not been the 
result of any frivolous lack of thought. A 
sharp experience had made him as thoroughly 
a man of the world as a man may be ; but it 
had not made him callous or indifferent to the 
beauties of life. No one would ever have 


64 


Theo^ 


called him emotional, or prone to enthusiasms 
of a weak kind, and yet he was by no means 
hard of heart. He had quiet fancies of his 
own about people and things, and many of 
these reticent, rarely-expressed ideas were rev- 
erent, chivalrous ones of women. The oppos- 
ing force of a whole world could never have 
shaken his faith in Priscilla Gower, or touched 
his respect for her ; but though, perhaps, he 
had never understood it so, he had never felt 
very enthusiastically concerning her. Truly, 
Priscilla Gower and enthusiasm were not in ac- 
cordance with each other. Chance had thrown 
them together when both were very young, and 
propinquity did the rest. Propinquity is the 
strongest of agents in a love affair, and in 
Denis Oglethorpe's love affair, propinquity had 
accomplished what nothing else would have 
been likely to have done. The desperate 
young scribbler of twenty years had been the 
lodger of the elder Miss Gower, and Priscilla, 
aged seventeen, had brought in his frugal din- 
ners to him, and receipted his modest bills on 
their weekly payment. 

Priscilla at seventeen, silent, practical, grave, 
and handsome, had, perhaps, softened uncon- 


^‘Theor 


65 


sciously at the sight of his often pale face — he 
worked so hard, and so far into the night ; 
when at length they became friends, Priscilla 
gravely, and without any hesitation, volun- 
teered to help him. She could copy well and 
clearly, and he could come into her aunt’s room 
— it would save fires. So she helped him 
calmly and decorously, bending her almost 
austerely-handsome young head over his papers 
for hours on the long winter nights. It is easy 
to guess how the matter terminated. If ever 
he won success he determined to give it to 
Priscilla — and so he told her. He had never 
wavered in his faith for a second since, though 
he had encountered many beautiful and wo- 
manly women. He had worked steadily for 
her sake, and shielded her from every care that, 
it lay within his power to lighten. He was not 
old Miss Elizabeth Gower s lodger now — he 
was her niece’s husband in prospective. He 
was to marry Priscilla Gower in eight months. 
This was why Theodora North, in glistening 
rose-pink satin, sent him home confronting a 
suddenly-raised spirit of pain. Twice, in one 
night, he had found himself feeling toward 
Theodora North as he had never felt toward 
S 


66 


‘‘Theor 


Priscilla Gower ip his life. Twice, in one night, 
he had turned his eyes upon this girl of six- 
teen, and suffered a sudden shock of amaze- 
ment, or something like it. He was startled 
and discomfited. She had no right to win 
such admiration from him — he had no right to 
give it. 

But as his walk in the night-air cooled him, 
it cooled his ardor of self-examination some- 
what. His discontent was modified by the 
time he reached his own door, and took his 
latch-key out of his pocket. The face that had 
looked down upon him beneath the light at 
the head of the staircase had faded into less 
striking color — it was only a girks face again. 
He was on better terms., with himself, and his 
weakness seemed less formidable. 

I will keep my promise to-morrow,’’ he 
said, and Priscilla shall go with us. Poor 
Priscilla ! — poor girl ! Rose-pink satin would 
scarcely be in good taste in Broome Street.” 

The promise he had, made was nothing more 
than a ratification of the old one. They were 
to see the lions together, and Priscilla was to 
guide them. 

And when the morrow came, he found it, 


‘‘Theor 


67 


after all, safe enough, and an easy enough mat- 
ter, to tuck Theodora's small, gloved hand un- 
der his arm, when they set out on their tour 
of investigation and discovery. The girl was 
pretty enough, too, in her soft, black merino 
— her best " dress in Downport — but she was 
not dazzling. The little round, black-plumed 
hat was becoming also ; but in his now more 
prosaic mood he could stand that, too, pretty 
as it was, in an innocent, unconsciously-coquet- 
tish way. Theo was never coquettish herself in 
the slightest degree. She was not world-wise 
enough for that yet. But she was quite exhil- 
arating to-day ; so glad to be out, even in the 
London fog of November; so glad to be taken 
lion-hunting ; so delighted with the shops and 
their gay windows ; so ready to let her young 
tongue run on in a gay stream of clatter, alto- 
gether so bright, and pretty, and joyous, that 
her escort was fain to be delighted too. 

Guess where we are going to first ! " said he. 
(He had not before openly spoken of Priscilla 
to her.) 

She glanced up into his face, brightly. She 
remembered what he had told her about his 
lady friend. 


68 


Theo^ 


I don’t exactly know the name of the place,” 
she said ; but I think I know the name of the 
person we are going to see.” 

Do you ? ” was his reply. “ Then say it to 
me — let me hear it.” 

Miss Gower,” she answered, softly, in a 
pretty reverence for him. ‘‘ Miss Priscilla 
Gower.” 

He nodded, slightly, with a curious mixture 
of expressions in his face. 

‘‘Yes,” he said. “Miss Gower, or rather 
Miss Priscilla Gower, as you say. Number 
twenty -three Broome Street; and Broome 
Street is not a fashionable locality, my dear 
Theodora.” 

“ Isn’t it ? ” queried Theo. “ Why not ? ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ask Lady Throckmorton,” he said. “ But 
do you know who Miss Priscilla Gower is, Theo- 
dora?” 

Her bright eyes crept up to his, half-timidly ; 
but she said nothing, so he continued : 

“ Miss Priscilla Gower is the young lady to 
whom I am to be married next July. -Did you 
know that?” ^ 

“Yes,” answered Theo, looking actually 


Theo: 


69 

pleased, and blushing beautifully as he looked 
down at her. But I am very much obliged 
to you for telling me, Mr. Oglethorpe.'' 

Why?" he asked. It was very preposter- 
ous, that even though his mood was so pro- 
saic and paternal, he was absurdly, vacantly 
sensible of feeling some uneasiness at the 
brightness of her upturned face. For pity's 
sake, why was it that he was impelled to such 
a puerile weakness — such a vanity, as he sternly 
called it. 

Because," returned Theo, it makes me feel 

as if . I mean it makes me happy to think 

you trust me enough to tell me about what has 
made you happy. I hope — oh ! I do hope Miss 
Priscilla Gower will like me." 

He had been looking straight before him 
while she spoke, but this brought his eyes to 
hers again, and to her face — bright, appealing, 
up -turned — and he found himself absolutely 
obliged to steady himself with a jesting speech. 

My dearest Theodora," he said, Miss 
Priscilla Gower could not possibly help it." 

Comforting as this assurance was to her, it 
must be confessed she found herself somewhat 
overawed on reaching Broome Street, and be- 


70 


Theo^ 


ing taken into the tiny, dwarfed-looking parlor 
of n^pber twenty-three ; Miss Elizabeth Gower 
herself was there, in her company cap, and long- 
cherished company dress of snuff-colored satin. 
There were not many shades of difference in 
either her snuff-colored gown, or her snuff-col- 
ored skin, or her neat, snuff-colored false front, 
Theo fancied, but she was not at all afraid of 
her. She was a trifle afraid of Miss Priscilla. 
Miss Priscilla was sitting at the table reading 
when they entered, and as she rose to greet 
them, holding her book in one hand, the 
thought entered Theo's mind that she could 
comprehend dimly why Lady Throckmorton 
disliked her, and thought her unsuited to Denis 
Oglethorpe. There was an absence of any- 
thing girl-like in her fine, ivory-pale face, some- 
how, though it was a young face and a hand- 
some face, at whose fine lines and clear contour 
even a connoisseur could not have caviled. Its 
almond-shaped, agate-gray eyes, black-fringed 
and lustrous as they were, still were silent 
eyes — they did not speak, even to Denis Ogle- 
thorpe. 

I am glad you have come,^’ she said, sim- 
ply, extending her hand in acknowledgment of 


-i 


“ Theo^ 


71 


Denis’s introduction. The quietness of this 
greeting speech was a fair sample of all her 
manner. It would have been sheerly in^k)ssi- 
ble to expect anything like effusiveness from 
Priscilla Gower. The most sanguine and emp- 
ty-headed of mortals would never have looked 
for it in her. She was constitutionally unen- 
thusiastic. 

But she was gravely curious in this case con- 
cerning Theodora North, The fact that Denis 
had spoken of her admiringly was sufficient to 
arouse in her mind an interest in this young 
creature, who was at once, and so inconsist- 
ently, beautiful, timid, and regal, without con- 
sciousness. 

Three years more will make her something 
wonderful, as far as beauty is concerned,” he 
had said ; and, accordingly, she had felt some 
slight pleasure in the anticipation of seeing 
her. 

Yet Theo had some faint misgivings during 
the day as to whether Miss Priscilla Gower 
would like her or not. She was at first even 
inclined to fear that she would not, being so 
very handsome, and grave, and womanly. But, 
toward the end of their journeying together, 


72 


Theol 


she felt more hopeful. Reticent as she was, 
Priscilla Gower was a very charming young 
person. She talked well, and with much clear, 
calm sense; she laughed musically when she 
laughed at all, and could make very telling, 
caustic speeches when occasion required ; but 
still it was singular what a wide difference the 
difference of six years made in the two girls. 
As Lady Throckmorton had said, it was not a 
matter of age. At twenty-two, Theodora 
North would overflow with youth as joyously 
as she did now at seventeen ; at seventeen Pris- 
cilla Gower had assisted her maiden aunt’s 
lodger to copy his manuscript with as mature a 
gravity as she would have displayed to-day. 

I hope,” said Theodora, when, after their 
sight-seeing was over, she stood on the pave- 
ment before the door in Broome Street, her 
nice little hand on Denis Oglethorpe’s arm, ‘‘ I 
hope you will let me come to see you again. 
Miss Gower.” 

Priscilla, standing upon the door-step, smiled 
down on her blooming girl’s face a smile that 
was a little like moonlight. All Priscilla’s 
smiles were like moonlight. Theo’s had a de- 
licious glow of the sun. 


TheoT 


73 


^‘Yes/’ she said, in her practical manner. 

It will please me very much to see you, Miss 
Theodora. Come as often as you can spare 
the time.’' 

She watched the two as they walked down 
the street together, Theo’s black feather, glossy 
in the gaslight, as it drooped its long end 
against Oglethorpe’s coat, and, as she watched 
them, she noticed even this trifle of the feather, 
and the trifling fact, that though Theo was 
almost regal in girlish height, she was not much 
taller than her companion’s shoulder. It was 
strange, she thought afterward, that she should 
have done so; but even while thinking it 
strange in the afterward that came to her, she 
remembered it all as distinctly as ever, and 
knew that to the last day of her life she would 
never quite forget the quiet of the narrow, 
dreary street, the yellow light of the gas-lamps, 
and the two figures walking away into the 
shadow, with their backs toward her, the girl 
holding Denis Oglethorpe’s arm, and the glossy 
feather in her black hat drooping its tip upon 
his shoulder. 


74 


‘‘Theor 


CHAPTER IV. 

A DIARY AND A VISIT. 

Up-STAIRS, in a sacred corner of the chamber 
Lady Throckmorton had apportioned to her, 
Theodora North kept her diary. Not a solid, 
long-winded diary, full of creditable reflec- 
tions upon the day’s events, but, on the con- 
trary, a harmless little book enough— a pretty 
little book, bound in pink and gold, and much 
ornamented about the corners, and greatly 
embellished with filigree clasps. Lady Throck- 
morton had given it to her because she admired 
it, and, in a very natural enthusiasm, she had 
made a diary of it. And here are the entries 
first recorded in its gilt-edged pages. 

December 7. — Mr. Oglethorpe was so kind as 
to remember his promise about showing me 
the lions. Enjoyed myself very much, Miss 
Priscilla Gower went with us. She is very 
dignified, or something ; but I think I like her. 
I am sure I like her, so I will go to see her 
again. I wonder how it is she reminds me of 
Pamela without being like Pamela at all. 


Theo^ 


75 


Poor Pam was always so sharp in her ways, and 
I do not think Miss Gower ever could speak 
sharply at all. And yet she reminds me of 
Pam. 

December 14. — Went to the theatre again 
with Lady Throckmorton and Mr. Oglethorpe. 
I wonder if the rose-pink satin is not becoming 
to me ? I thought it was ; but before I went 
up stairs to dress, Mr. Oglethorpe said to me, 
Don't put on the rose-pink satin, Theodora.'' 
I am sorry that he does not think it is pretty. 
Wore a thin, white muslin dress, and dear, 
dearest old Pamela's beautiful sapphires. The 
muslin had a long train. 

Dece^nber 18. — Mr. Oglethorpe came to-night 
with a kind message from Miss Gower. 

From these innocent extracts, persons of an 
unlimited experience might draw serious con- 
clusions ; but when she made said entries, 
kneeling before her toilet-table each night, our 
dear Theodora thought nothing about them at 
all. She had nothing else in particular to write 
about at present, so, in default of finding a 
better subject, she jotted down guileless re- 
membrances of Denis Oglethorpe and the 
length of her trains. 


76 


“ Theo." 


But one memorable evening, on going into 
the sitting-room, with the pink and gold vol- 
ume in her hand, she encountered Sir Dugald, 
who seemed to be in an extraordinary frame 
of mind, and, withal, nothing loth to meet 
her. 

^^What pretty book have you there, Theo- 
dora?'' he asked, in his usual amiably uncivil- 
ized manner. 

It is my diary," Theo answered. Lady 
Throckmorton gave it to me. I put things 
down in it." 

“ Oh, oh ! " was the reply, taking hold of both 
Sabre's ears, and chuckling. “ Put things 
down, do you? What sort of things do you 
put down, eh, pretty Theodora ? Lovers, eh ? 
Literary men, eh ? " 

Theo grew pink all over — pink as to cheeks, 
pink as to slim white throat, even pink as to 
small ears. She was frightened, and her fright 
was of a kind such as she had never expe- 
rienced before. But it was not Sir Dugald she 
was afraid of — she was used to him. It was 
something new of which she had never thought 
until this very instant. 

‘‘ Literary men, eh ? " Sir Dugald went on. 


‘‘Theor 


77 


Do you put down what their names are, and 
what they do, and how they make mistakes, 
and take the wrong young lady to see Norma, 
and Faust, and IlTrovatore? II Trovatore's 
a nice opera, and Leonora sounds something 
like Theodora. It doesn’t sound anything like 
Priscilla, does it? The devil fly away with 
Priscilla, I say. Priscilla isn’t musical, is it 
Leonora? ” 

Once having freed herself from him, which 
was by no means an easy matter, Theo flew 
up stairs tremulous, breathless, flushed. She 
did not stop to think. She had seen the draw- 
ing-room empty and unlighted, save by a dull 
fire, on her way down stairs, so she turned to 
the drawing-room. She had been conscious of 
nothing but Sir Dugald, so she had not heard 
the hall-door open ; and not having heard the 
hall-door open, had, of course, not heard Denis 
Oglethorpe come in. So, in running into the 
fire-lit room, she broke in upon that gentle- 
man, who was standing in the shadow, and it 
must be confessed was rather startled by her 
sudden entrance and curiously excited face. 

He stopped her short, however, collectedly 
enough. 


78 


“ Theor 


^^What is the matter, Theodora?'' he de- 
manded. 

She slipped down upon a footstool, all in a 
flutter, when she saw him, she was so shaken ; 
and then, in her sudden abasement and breath- 
less tremor, gave vent to a piteous little half- 
sob, though she was terribly ashamed of it. 

I — I don't know," she answered him. It's 
— it's nothing at all." But he knew better than 
that, and, guessing very shrewdly that he was 
not wholly unconnected with the matter himself, 
questioned her as closely as was consistent with 
delicacy, and, in the end, after some diplomacy, 
and a few more of the surprised, piteous, little 
unwilling half-sobs, gleaned a great deal of the 
truth from her. 

It was only — only something Sir Dugald 
said about you and Miss Gower, and — and 
something about me," she added, desperately. 

Oh ! " he said, looking so composed about 
it that the very sight of his composure calmed 
her, and made her begin to think she had seen 
a mountain in a mole-hill. Sir Dugald ? 
Only Sir Dugald. What did he say, may I ask, 
as it — it is about myself and Miss Gower ? " 

Of course he might ask, but the difficulty 



^^Theor^ 


79 


/ 


lay in gaining any definite answer. Theodora 
blushed, and then turned a little pale, looking 
wondrously abased in her uncalled-for confu- 
sion ; but she was not at all coherent in her ex- 
planations, which were really not meant for 
explanations at all. 

II Trovatore was so beautiful ! she burst 
out, finally; and so was Faust; and I had 
never been to the opera in all my life before, 

and, of course ’’ blushing and palpitating, 

but still looking at him without a shade of 
falsehood in her innocent, straightforward eyes, 
‘^of course, I couldn’t. How could I be so 
silly, and vain, and presuming, as to think of — 
of_of 

She stopped here, as might be expected, and, 
if the room had been light enough, she might 
have seen a shadow fall on Oglethorpe’s face, 
as he prompted her. 

Of what?” 

Her eyes fell. 

Of what Sir Dugald said,” she ended, in a 
troubled half whisper. 

There was a slight pause, in which both pairs 
of eyes looked down — Theodora’s upon the 
rug of tiger-skin at her feet, Oglethorpe’s at 


8o 


Theo: 


Theodora herself. They were treading upon 
dangerous ground, he knew, and yet, in the 
midst of his fierce anger at his weakness, he 
was conscious of a regret — a contemptible re- 
gret, he told himself — that the eyes she had 
raised to his own a moment ago, had been so 
very clear and guilelessly honest in their ac- 
cordance with the declaration her lips had 
made. 

But my dear Theodora,'’ he at length broke 
the silence by saying, carelessly, why should 
we trouble ourselves about that elderly Goth, 
or Vandal, if you choose — Sir Dugald. Who 
does trouble themselves about Sir Dugald, and 
his amiably ponderous jocoseness? Not Lady 
Throckmorton, I am sure ; not society in gen- 
eral, you must know ; consequently, let us 
treat Sir Dugald with silent contempt, in a 
glorious consciousness of our own spotless in- 
nocence. 

He was uneasy under his satirical indif- 
ference ; though he was so accustomed to con- 
ceal his thoughts under indifference and satire, 
he was scarcely sure enough of himself at this 
minute : but, despite this, he carried out the 
assumed mood pretty well. 


‘‘Theor 


8i 


We have no need to be afraid of Sir Du- 
gald's Vandalism if we have no fear of our- 
selves, and, considering, as you so very justly 
observed, that it is quite impossible for us to 
be silly, and vain, and presuming toward each 
other, I think we must be quite safe. I be- 
lieve you said it would be impossible, Theo- 
dora ? ’’ 

Just one breath’s space, and Theodora North 
looked up at him, as it were through the influ- 
ence of an electric flash of recognition. There 
was a wild, sweet, troubled color on her cheeks, 
and her lips were trembling; her whole _fa^ 
seemed to tremble ; her very eyes had a vary- 
ing, tremulous glow. 

‘‘Quite impossible, *vvasn’t it, Theodora?” 
he repeated, and though he had meant it ^for 
nothing more than a careless, daring speech, 
his voice changed in defiance of him, and al- 
tered, or seemed to alter, both words and their 
meaning. What, in the name of madness, he 
would have been rash enough to say next, ip 
response to the tremor of light and color in 
the upturned face, it would be hard to say, for 
here he was stopped, as it were, by Fortune 
herself. 


6 


82 


^‘Theor 


Fortune come in the form of Lady Throck- 
morton, fresh from Trollope's last, and in a 
communicative mood. 

^^Ah! You are here, Denis, and you, too 
Theodora? Why are you sitting in the 
dark ? " And, as she bent over to touch the 
bell, Theodora rose from her footstool to make 
way for her — rose with a little sigh, as if she 
had just been awakened from a dream which 
was neither happy nor sad. 

It was very plainly Lady Throckmorton's 
business to see, and seeing, to understand the 
affairs of her inexperienced young relative ; but 
if Lady Throckmorton understood that Theo- 
dora North was unconsciously endangering the 
peace of her girlish heart, Lady Throckmorton 
was very silent, or very indifferent about the 
matter. But she was not moulded after the 
manner of the stern female guardians usually 
celebrated in love stories. She was not mer- 
cenary, and she was by no means authoritative. 
She had sent for Theo with the intention of 
extending to her the worldly assistance she had 
extended to Pamela, and, beyond that, the 
matter lay in the girl's own hands. Lady 
Throckmorton had no high views for her in 


^‘Theor 


83 


particular; she wanted to see her enjoy herself 
as much as possible until the termination of her 
visit, let it terminate, matrimonially or other- 
wise. Besides, she was not so young as she 
had been in Pamela’s time, and, consequently, 
though she was reasonably fond of her hand- 
some niece, and more than usually generous 
toward her, she was inclined to let her follow 
her own devices. For herself, she had her 
luxurious little retiring-room, with its luxu- 
rious fires and lounges; and after these, or 
rather with these, came an abundance of nov- 
els, and the perfect, creamy chocolate her 
French cook made such a masterpiece of — 
novels and chocolate standing as elderly and 
refined dissipations. And not being troubled 
with any very strict ideas of right or wrong, it 
would, by no means, have annoyed her ladyship 
to know that her handsome Theodora had out- 
generaled her pet grievance, Priscilla Gower. 
Why should not Priscilla Gower be out-gener- 
aled, and why should not Denis marry some 
one who was as much better suited to him, as 
Theodora North plainly was?” 

Tut ! tut ! ” she said to Sir Dugald. Why 
shouldn’t they be married to each other ? It 


84 


‘‘Theor 


would be better than Priscilla Gower, if Theo- 
dora had nothing but Pam's gray satin for her 
bridal trousseau." 

So Theo was left to herself, and having no 
confidant but the pink and gold journal, grad- 
ually began to trust to its pages some very 
troubled reflections. It had not occurred to 
her that she could possibly be guilty in admir- 
ing Mr. Denis Oglethorpe so much as she did, 
and in feeling so glad when he came, and so 
sorry when he went away. She had not thought 
that it was because he was sitting near her, 
and talking to her between the acts, that II 
Trovatore and Faust had been so thrillingly 
beautiful and tender. And this was quite 
true, even though she had not begun to com- 
prehend it as yet. 

She had no right to feel anxious about him ; 
and yet, when, after having committed himself 
in the rash manner chronicled, he did not make 
his appearance for nearly two weeks, she was 
troubled in no slight degree. Indeed, though 
the thought was scarcely defined, she had some 
unsophisticated misgivings as to whether Miss 
Priscilla Gower might not have been aroused 
to a sense of the wrongs done her through the 


^‘Theor 


85 


medium of II Trovatore, and so have laid an 
interdict upon his visits ; but it was only 
Sir Dugald who had suggested this to her 
fancy. 

But by the end of the two weeks, she grew 
tired of waiting, and the days were so very 
long, that at length, not without some slight 
compunction, she made up her mind to go 
and pay a guileless visit to Miss Priscilla Gower 
herself. 

I am going to see Miss Gower, aunt,'’ she 
ventured to say one morning at the breakfast- 
table. 

Sir Dugald looked up from his huge slice of 
broiled venison, clumsily jocose after his cus- 
tomary agreeable manner. 

‘‘What's that, Leonora?" he said. “Going 
to see the stern vestal, are you? Priscilla, 
eh?" 

Lady Throckmorton shrugged her shoulders 
in an indifferent sarcasm. She was often both 
sarcastic and indifferent in her manner toward 
Sir Dugald. 

“ Theo's in-goings and out-goings are scarcely 
our business, so long as she enjoys herself," she 
said. “ Present my regards to the Miss Gow- 


86 


“Theor 


ers, my dear, and say I regret that my health 
does not permit me to accompany you.’' 

A polite fiction, by the way, as my lady was 
looking her best. It was only upon state occa- 
sions, and solely on Denis’s account, that she 
ever submitted to Broome Street, albeit the fat, 
gray horses, and fat, gray coachman did occa- 
sionally recognize the existence of that remote 
locality. 

It so happened that, as they drew up before 
Miss Gower’s modest door, this morning, the 
modest door in question opened, and Denis 
Oglethorpe himself came out, and, of course, 
caught sight of Theodora North, who had just 
bent forward to pull the check-string, and so 
gave him a full view of her charming face, 
and, in her pleasure at seeing him, that young 
lady forgot both herself and Sir Dugald, and 
exclaimed aloud, 

‘‘ Oh, Mr. Oglethorpe ! ” she cried out. I 
am so glad — ” and then stopped, in a confu- 
sion and trepidation absolutely brilliant. 

He came to the window, and looked in at 
her. 

Are you coming to see Priscilla ? ” he said. 

Lady Throckmorton said I might,” she an- 


Theo^: 


87 


swered, the warmth in her face chilled by his 
unenthusiastic, though kindly tone. She did 
not know what a struggle it cost him to face 
her thus carelessly all at once. 

He did not even open the carriage door him- 
self, but waited for the footman to do it. 

Priscilla will be glad to see you,’' he said, 
quietly. I will go into the house again with 
you.” 

The dwarfed sitting-room looked very much 
as it had looked on Theo’s first introduction to 
it ; but on this occasion Miss Elizabeth was 
not arrayed in the snuff-colored satin ; and, 
when they entered, Priscilla was kneeling down 
upon the hearth-rug, straightening out an ob- 
streperous fold in it. 

She rose, collectedly, at once, and, as her 
face turned toward them, Theo was struck with 
some fancy of its being a shade paler than it 
had been the last time she had seen it. But 
her manner was not changed in the least, and 
she welcomed her visitor with grave cordiality. 
Poor little snuff-colored Miss Elizabeth was 
delighted. She was getting very fond of com- 
pany in her old age, and had taken a great 
fancy to Theodora North. 


88 


Theo', 


Send the carriage away, and stay with us 
until evening, Miss Theodora,” she fluttered, 
in mild, old-maidenly excitement. Do stay. 
Miss Theodora, and I will show you how to do 
the octagon stitch, as I promised the last time 
you were here. You remember how you ad- 
mired it in that antimacassar I was making for 
Priscilla?” 

Miss Elizabeth’s chief delight and occupation 
was the making of miraculously-gorgeous mys- 
teries for Priscilla ; and Theo’s modest eulogies 
of her last piece of work had won her admira- 
tion and regard at once. Consequently, under 
stress of Miss Elizabeth, the carriage was fain 
to depart, much to the abasement of the fat, 
gray coachman, who felt himself much dishon- 
ored in finding he was compelled, not only to 
pay majestic calls to Broome Street, but to 
acknowledge the humiliating fact of friendly 
visits. 

‘‘We must have a fire in the best parlor,, 
my dear,” chirped Elizabeth, ecstatically, when 
Theo’s hat and jacket were being carried out 
of. the room. “Don’t forget to tell Jane, Pris- 
cilla, and — ” fumbling in her large side- 
pocket, “ here’s the key of the preserve closet. 


TheoT 89 

Quince preserve, my dear, and white currant- 
jelly.” 

Theodora was reminded of Downport that 
day, in a hundred ways. The nice little com- 
pany-dinner reminded her of it ; the solitary 
little roast fowl, and the preserves, and pud- 
dings ; but the company dinners at Downport 
had always been detracted from by the sharp 
annoyance in Pam's face, and the general do- 
mestic bustle, and the total inadequacy of 
gravy and stuffing to the wants of the boys. 
She was particularly reminded of it by the 
ceremonious repairing to the fire, in the front 
parlor, where everything was so orderly, and 
even the family portraits had the appearance 
of family portraits roused from a deep reverie 
to be surprised at an intrusion. 

My late lamented parents, my dear," said 
Miss Elizabeth, rubbing her spectacles, and ad- 
miringly regarding an owl-like, elderly gentle- 
man, in an aggressive brown wig, and an 
equally owl-like lady, in a self-announcing false 
front embarrassingly suggestive of Miss Eliza- 
beth's own. My late lamented parents, at 
the respective ages of fifty and fifty-seven. My 
sister Anastasia, my only brother, my sister- 


90 


^‘Theor 


in-law, his wife, and my dear Priscilla, at seven- 
teen years.’' 

Theo turned from the others to look at this 
last with a deeper interest ; remembered that 
it was when she was seventeen that Priscilla 
had first met Denis Oglethorpe. It was a 
small picture, half life-size, and set in an oval 
frame of black walnut. Priscilla at seventeen 
had not been very different from Priscilla at 
twenty-two. She had a pale, handsome, un- 
girlish face — a Minerva face, — steady, grave, 
handsome eyes, and a fine head, unadorned, 
save with a classic knot of black-brown hair. 
The picture was not even younger-looking than 
Priscilla was now. 

Miss Elizabeth regarded it in affectionate 
admiration of its beauty. 

My dear,” she said to' Theodora, that is 
the most beautiful face in London, to my old 
eyes. It reminds me of my dear Anastasia in 
her youth. I was always glad my brother Ben- 
jamin’s daughter was not like his wife. We 
were not fond of my brother Benjamin’s wife. 
She was a very giddy young person, and very 
fond of gayety. She died of lung fever, con- 
tracted through exposing herself one night at 


Theor 


91 


a military ball, in direct opposition to my 
brother Benjamin's wishes. She insisted upon 
wearing blue satin slippers, and a low-necked 
dress." 

Oh dear ! " said Theodora, secretly con- 
scious of a guilty sympathy for the giddy young 
person who ran counter to brother Benjamin's 
wishes, in the ^matter of military balls and 
blue satin slippers. 

‘‘ Yes, my love 1 " Miss Elizabeth proceeded. 

And for that reason I was always glad to find 
that Priscilla was not at all like her. Priscilla 
and I have been very happy together in our 
quiet way ; she has been the best of dear, good 
girls to me. Indeed, I really don't know what 
I shall do when I must lose her, as of course 
you know I shall be obliged to, when she mar- 
ries Mr. Denis Oglethorpe ! " 

‘‘Yes, ma'am," answered Theo, and, as 
she spoke, she felt a glow flash over her. 
This was the first time an actual approach 
to the subject had been made in her pres- 
ence. 

“Yes, my dear ! " said Miss Elizabeth again. 
“ I shall feel the separation very deeply, but it 
must be, you know. They have waited so long 


92 


Theor 


for each other, that I should be a very wicked, 
selfish old woman to throw any obstacle, even 
so slight a one as my own discomfort, in their 
way. Don’t you think so?” 

^‘Yes, madame,” Theo faltered, very un- 
steadily, indeed. 

But Miss Elizabeth did not notice any hesi- 
tation in her manner, and went on with her 
confidential chat, eulogizing Priscilla and her 
betrothed affectionately. Mr. Denis Ogle- 
thorpe would be a rich man some of these 
days, and tEien what a happy life must Priscil- 
la’s be — so young, so beautiful, so beloved. 
“ Not that wealth brings happiness, my dear 
Miss Theodora. Riches are very deceitful, you 
know; but there is a great deal of solid com- 
fort in a genteel sufficiency.” 

To all of which Theo acquiesced, modestly, 
inwardly wondering if she was very wrong in 
wishing that Mr. Oglethorpe had not left 
them quite so early. 

The day passed pleasantly enough, however, 
in a quiet way. Miss Elizabeth was very af- 
fectionate and communicative, and told her a 
great many stories of Anastasia, and the late 
lamented Benjamin, as they sat by the fire to- 


Theo ', 


93 


gather in the evening and blundered over the 
octagon-stitch. It was an Afghan Miss Eliza- 
beth was making now ; and when, at tea-time, 
Mr. Oglethorpe came, he found Theodora 
North sitting on the hearth, flushed with in- 
dustrious anxiety, and thrown into a reflected 
glow of brilliant Berlin wools, a beautiful young 
spider in a gorgeous Afghan web. 

I should like,” she was saying, as he en- 
tered, to buy Pamela and the girls some nice 
little presents. What would you advise me to 
get. Miss Gower ? 

She was very faithful to the shabby house- 
hold at Downport. Her letters were never 
careless or behind time, and no one was ever 
neglected in the multiplicity of messages. She 
would be the most truthful and faithful of lov- 
ing women a few years hence, this handsome 
Theodora. There was some reserve in her 
manner toward Denis this evening. She at- 
tended to Miss Elizabeth's octagon-stitch, and 
left him to amuse Priscilla. He had not seemed 
very much pleased to see her in the morning, 
and, besides, Priscilla was plainly his business. 
But, when the carriage was announced, and 
she returned to the parlor, after an absence of 


94 


‘‘Theor 


a few minutes, drawing on her gloves, and but- 
toning her pretty jacket close up to her beau- 
tiful, slender, dusky throat, Denis took his hat, 
and accompanied her to the carriage. He did 
not wait for the footman this time ; but, after 
assisting her to get in, closed the door himself, 
and leaned against the open window for a mo- 
ment. 

I want you to deliver a message to Lady 
Throckmorton for me,’' he said. May I 
trouble you, Theodora? ” 

She bent her head with an unpleasantly 
quickened heart-beat. It was very foolish, of 
course, but she felt as if something painful was 
going to happen, and nothing on earth could 
prevent it. 

Business has unexpectedly called me away 
from London — from England,” he explained, 
in a strange, yet quite steady voice. I am 
obliged to go to Belgium at once, and my af- 
fairs are in such a condition that I may be 
compelled to remain across the channel for 
some* time. Be good enough to say to Lady 
Throckmorton that I regret deeply that I could 
not see her before going ; but— but the news 
has been sudden, and my time is fully occu- 


Theor 95 

pled ; but I will write to her from my first stop- 
ping-place/' 

I will tell her/^ said Theodora. 

‘‘Thank you/' he replied, courteously, and 
then, after a short hesitation, began again, in 
the tone he used so often — the tone that might 
be jest or earnest. “And now there is some- 
thing else, a subject upon which I wish to ask 
your unbiased opinion, my dear Theodora, be- 
fore I say good-by. When a man finds himself 
in a danger with which he cannot combat, and 
remain human — in danger, where defeat means 
dishonor, do you not agree with me, that the 
safest plan that man can adopt is to run away ? " 
Her quickened heart might almost have been 
running a life and death race with her leaping 
pulse, but she answered him quite steadily. 

“Yes," she said to him. “You are quite 
right. He had better go away." 

“Thank you," he returned again. “Then 
you will give me your hand, and wish me God 
speed ; and, perhaps — I say perhaps — ^you will 
answer me another question. This morning, 
when you spoke to me through the carriage- 
window, you began to say something about 
being glad. Were you going to say " He 


‘^Theor 


96 

broke off here sharply. No ! he exclaimed. 

I will not ask you.'' 

I was going to say that I was glad to see 
you," Theo interrupted, gravely. I was glad 
to see you. And now, perhaps you had better 
tell the coachman to drive on. I will deliver 
your message to Lady Throckmorton ; and as 
I shall not see you again, unless I am here in 
July — Of course you will come back then — 
Good-by, Mr. Oglethorpe." 

She gave him her hand through the carriage- 
window, and for a moment, he held it, to all 
appearance quite calm, as he looked down at 
the lovely face, the flare of an adjacent gas- 
light revealed to him against a back-ground of 
shadow. 

‘‘Good-by," he said, and then released it. 
“ Drive on," he called to the coachman, and, in 
a moment more, he stood alone watching the 
carriage turn the corner. 


‘‘Theor 


97 


CHAPTER V. 

ARE YOU LIKE HER? 

'' Mr. Denis Oglethorpe has gone away. 
He will not come back again until July, when 
he is to marry Miss Gower.’' 

This was the last entry recorded in the little 
pink-and-gold journal, and after it came a gap 
of months. 

It was midnight after the memorable day 
spent in Broome Street that the record was 
made, and having made it, Theodora North 
shut the book with a startled feeling that she 
had shut within its pages an unfinished page 
of her life. 

It was a strange feeling to have come upon 
her so suddenly, and there was a kind of 
desperateness in its startling strength. It was 
startling; it had come upon her without a 
moment’^ warning, it seemed, and yet, if she 
had been conscious of it, there had been warn- 
ing enough. Warning enough for an older wo- 
man — warning enough for Denis Oglethorpe ; 
but it had not seemed warning to a girl of 

7 


98 


Theor 


scarcely seventeen years. But she understood 
it now ; she had understood it the moment he 
told her in that strained, steady voice that he 
was going away. She had delivered his message 
to Lady Throckmorton, and listened quietly 
to her wondering comments, answering them 
as best she could. She had waited patiently 
until Sir Dugald’s barbarous eleven o’clock 
supper was over, and then she had gone to her 
room, stirred the fire, and dropped down upon 
the hearth-rug to think it over. She thought 
over it for a long time, her handsome eyes 
brooding over the red coals, but after about 
half an hour she spoke out aloud to the silence 
of the room. 

He loved me,” she said. He loved me— 
me. Poor Priscilla ! Ah, poor Priscilla ! How 
sorry I am for you.” 

She was far more sorry for Priscilla than she 
was for herself, though it was Priscilla who had 
won the lover, and herself who had lost him 
for ever. She cared for him so much more 
deeply than she realized as yet, that she would 
rather lose him, knowing he loved her, than 
win him feeling uncertain. The glow in her 
eyes died away in tears, but she was too young 


Theor 


99 


to realize despair or anything like it. The 
truth was that the curious enchantment of the 
day had not been altogether sad, and at seven- 
teen one does not comprehend that fate can 
be wholly bitter, or that some turn in fortyne 
is not in store for the future, however hopeless 
the present may seem. 

In this mood the entry was made in the little 
journal, and, having made it, Theodora North 
cried a little, hoped a little, and wondered 
guilelessly how matters could end with perfect 
justice to Priscilla Gower. 

The household seemed rather quiet after the 
change. Mr. Denis Oglethorpe was a man to 
be missed under any circumstances — and Theo 
was not the only one who missed him. Lady 
Throckmorton missed him also, but she had 
the solace of her novels and her chocolate, 
which Theo had not. Novels had been de- 
lightful at Downport, when they were read in 
hourly fear of the tasks that always interfered 
to prevent any indulgence ; but in these days, 
for some reason, they were not as satisfactory 
as they appeared once, and so being thrown on 
her own resources, she succumbed to the very 
natural girlish weakness of feeling a sort of fas- 


lOO 


Theor 


cinatlon for Broome Street. It was hard to 
resist Broome Street, knowing that there must 
be news to be heard there, and so she grad- 
ually fell into the habit of paying visits, more 
to Miss Elizabeth Gower than to her niece. 
The elder Miss Gower was always communica- 
tive, and always ready to talk about her favor- 
ites, and to Theo, in her half-puzzled, half-sad 
frame of mind, this was a curious consolation. 
The two spent hours together, sometimes, in 
the tiny parlor, stumbling over Berlin wool 
difficulties, and now and then wandering to 
and fro, conversationally, from Priscilla to the 
octagon stitch, and from the octagon stitch to 
Denis. 

Priscilla was prone to reserve, and rarely 
joined them in their talks ; and, besides, she 
was so often busy, that if she had felt the in- 
clination to do so, she had not the time to in- 
dulge it. But she was even more silent than 
she had seemed at first, Theo thought, and she 
was sure her pale, handsome face was paler, 
though, of course, that was easily to be ac- 
counted for by her lover’s absence. 

She was a singular girl, this Priscilla Gower. 
The first time Theo ever saw her display an 


Theor 


lOI 


interest in anybody, or in anything, was when 
she first heard Pamela's love story mentioned. 

She was sitting at work near them, when 
Theo chanced to mention Arthur Brunwalde, 
and, to her surprise, Priscilla looked from her 
desk immediately. 

‘‘He was your sister's lover, was he not?" 
she said, with an abrupt interest in the subject. 

“Yes," answered Theo ; “but he died, you 
know." 

Priscilla nodded. 

“ The week before their wedding-day," she 
said. “ Mr. Oglethorpe told me so." 

Theo answered in the affirmative again. 

“ And poor Pam could not forget him," she 
added, her usual tender reverence for poor 
Pam showing itself in her sorrowing voice. 
“ She was very pretty then, and Lady Throck- 
morton was angry because she would not marry 
anybody else ; but Pamela never cared for any- 
body else." 

Priscilla got up from her chair, and, coming 
to the hearth, leaned against the low mantel, 
pen in hand. She looked down on Theodora 
North with a curious expression in her cold, 
handsome eyes. 


^‘TheoT 


102 

Is your sister like you she asked. 

Her tone was such a strange one that Theo 
lifted her face with a faint, startled look. 

‘‘No,’’ she replied, almost timidly. “Pa- 
mela is fairer than I am, and not so tall. We 
are not alike at all.” 

“ I was not thinking of that,” said Priscilla. 
“ I was wondering if you were alike in disposi- 
tion. I think I was wondering most whether 
you would be as faithful as Pamela,” 

“ That is a strange question,” Miss Elizabeth 
interposed. “Theodora has not been tried.” 

But Priscilla was looking straight at Theo’s 
downcast eyes. 

“ But I think Theodora knows,” she said, 
briefly. “Are you like your sister in that, 
Theodora? I remember hearing Mr. Ogle- 
thorpe say once you would be.” 

Theo dropped her ivory crochet-needle, and 
bent to pick it up, with a blurred vision and 
nervous fingers. 

“I cannot tell,” she said. “I am not old 
enough to know yet.” 

“You are seventeen,” said Priscilla. “I 
knew at seventeen.” 

Theo recovered the needle, and reset it in 


^‘TheoT 


103 


her work to give herself time, and then she 
looked up and faced her questioner bravely, in 
a sort of desperateness. 

If I knew that I loved any one. If I had 
ever loved any one as Pamela loved Mr. Brun- 
walde, I should be like Pamela,’' she said. I 
should never love any one else.” 

From that time she fancied that Priscilla 
Gower liked her better than she had done be- 
fore ; at any rate, she took more notice of her, 
though she was never effusive, of course. 

She talked to her oftener, and seemed to 
listen while she talked, even though she was 
busy at the time. She said to her once that 
she would like to know Pamela ; and embold- 
ened by this, Theo ventured to bring one of 
Pam’s letters to read to her ; and when she 
had read it, told the whole story of her sister’s 
generosity in a little burst of enthusiastic love 
and gratitude that fairly melted tender-hearted 
old Miss Elizabeth to tears, and caused her to 
confide afterward to Theo the fact that she 
herself had felt the influence of the tender pas- 
sion, in consequence of the blandishments of a 
single gentleman of uncertain age, whose per- 
formances upon the flute had been the means 


104 


Theo: 


of winning her affections, but had unhappily 
resulted in his contracting a fatal cold while 
serenading on a damp evening. 

‘‘He used to play ‘In a Cottage near a 
Wood,’ my dear, most beautifully,” said Miss 
Elizabeth, with mild pathos, “though I regret 
to say that, as we did not live in a musical 
neighborhood, the people next door did not 
appreciate it ; the gentleman of the house even 
going so far as to say that he was not sorry 
when he died, as he did a few weeks after the 
cold settled on his dear, weak lungs. He was 
the only lover I ever had, my dear Theodora, 
and his name was Elderberry, a very singular 
name, by the way, but he was a very talented 
man.” 

When Theo went into the little back bedroom 
that evening to put on her hat, Priscilla Gower 
went with her, and, as she stood before the 
dressing-table buttoning her sacque, she was 
somewhat puzzled by the expression on her 
companion’s face. Priscilla had taken up her 
muff, and was stroking the white fur, her eyes 
downcast upon her hand as it moved to and 
fro, the ring upon its forefinger shining in the 
gaslight. 


^‘Theor 


105 


I had a letter from Mr. Oglethorpe yester- 
day/' Priscilla said, at last. He is in Vienna 
now ; he asked if you were well. To-night I 
shall answer him. Have you any message to 
send? " 

‘HP" said Theo. It seemed to her so strange 
a thing for Miss Priscilla Gower to say, that 
her pronoun was almost an interjection. 

I thought, perhaps," said Priscilla, quietly, 
“that a message from you would gratify him, 
if you had one to send." 

Theo took up her gloves and began to draw 
them on, a sudden feeling of pain or discomfort 
striking her. It was a feeling scarcely defined 
enough to allow her to decide whether it was 
real pain or only discomfort. 

“ I do not think I have any message to 
send," she replied. “Thank you. Miss Pris- 
cilla." 

She took her muff then, and went back to 
the parlor to kiss Miss Elizabeth in a strange 
frame of mind. She was beginning to feel 
more strongly concerning Mr. Denis Ogle- 
thorpe, and it was Priscilla Gower who had 
stirred her heart. She found Lady Throck- 
morton waiting at home for her, to her sur- 


io6 


^^Theoi: 


prise, in a new mood. She had that evening 
received a letter from Denis herself, and it had 
suggested an idea to her. 

I have been thinking, Theo,'' she said, 
that we might take a run across the Channel 
ourselves. I have not been in Paris for four 
years, and I believe the change would do me 
good. The last time I visited the spas, my 
health improved greatly.” 

' It was just like her ladyship to become sud- 
denly possessed of a whim, and to follow its 
lead on the spur of the moment. She was a 
women of caprices, and her caprices always 
ruled the day, as this one did, to Theo’s great 
astonishment. It seemed such a great under- 
taking to Theodora, this voyage of a few hours ; 
but Lady Throckmorton regarded it as the 
lightest of matters. To her it was only the 
giving of a few orders, being uncomfortably 
sea-sick for a while, and then landing in Calais, 
with a waiting-woman who understood her 
business, and a man-servant who was accus- 
tomed to traveling. So, when Theo broke into 
exclamations of pleasure and astonishment, she 
did not understand either her enthusiasm or 
her surprise. 


^^TheoT 


107 


What/' she said, you like the idea, do 
you ? Well, I think I have made up my mind 
about it. We could go next week, and I dare 
say we could reach Vienna before Denis Ogle- 
thorpe goes away.” 

Theo becomes suddenly silent. She gave 
vent to no further exclamations. She would 
almost have been willing to give up the plea- 
sure of the journey after that. She was learn- 
ing that it was best for her not to see Denis 
Oglethorpe again, and here it seemed that she 
must see him in spite of herself, even though 
she was conscientious enough to wish to do 
what was best, not so much because it was 
best for herself, as because it was just to Pris- 
cilla Gower. But Lady Throckmorton had 
come to a decision, and forthwith made her 
preparations. She even wrote to Vienna, and 
told Denis that they were coming, herself and 
Theodora North, and he must wait and meet 
them if possible. 

It was a great trial to Theodora, this. She 
was actually girlish and sensitive enough to 
fancy that Mr. Denis Oglethorpe might imagine 
their intention to follow him was some fault 
of hers, and she was uncomfortable and ner- 


io8 


^‘Tkeor 


vous accordingly. She hoped he would have 
left Vienna before the letter reached him ; 
she hoped he might go away in spite of it; 
she hoped it might never reach him at all. 
And yet, in spite of this, she experienced 
a passionately keen sense of disappointment 
when, on the day before their departure. Lady 
Throckmorton received a letter from him re- 
gretting his inability to comply with her re- 
quest, and announcing his immediate depar- 
ture for some place whose name he did not 
mention. Business had called him away, and 
Lady Throckmorton, of course, knew what 
such business was, and how imperative its de- 
mands were. 

He might have waited,'’ Theo said to her- 
self, with an unexpected, inconsistent feeling 
of wretchedness. I would have stayed any- 
where to have seen him only for a minute. He 
had no need to be so ready to go away." And 
then she found herself burning all over, as it 
were, in her shame at discovering how bold her 
thoughts had been. 

Perhaps this was the first time she really 
awoke to a full consciousness of where she had 
drifted. The current had carried her along so 


^‘Theor 


109 


far, and she had not been to blame, because 
she had not comprehended her danger ; but 
now it was different. She was awakening, but 
she was at the edge of the cataract, and its 
ominous sounds had alarmed her. 


no 


‘^Theor 


CHAPTER VI. 

DON’T GO YET. 

The letters that were faithfully written to 
Downport during the following month, were 
the cause of no slight excitement in the house 
of David North, Esq. The children looked 
forward to the reception of them as an event 
worthy of being chronicled. Theo was an 
exact correspondent, and recorded her adven- 
tures and progress with as careful a precision 
as if it had been a matter of grave import 
whether she was in Boulogne or Bordeaux, or 
had stayed at one hotel or the other. It was 
not the pleasantest season of the year to travel, 
she wrote, but it was, of course, the gayest in 
the cities. Lady Throckmorton was very kind 
and very generous. She took her out a great 
deal, and spent a great deal of money in sight- 
seeing, which proved conclusively how kind she 
was, as her ladyship knew all the places worth 
looking at, as well as she knew Charing Cross 
or St. Paul’s. And at the end of a month came 
a letter from Paris full of news and description. 


^‘Theor 


III 


reached Paris three days ago,” wrote 
Theo, and are going to remain until Lady 
Throckmorton makes up her mind to go some- 
where else, or to return to London. She has 
a great number of friends here who have found 
us out already. She is very fond of Paris, 
and I think would rather stay here than 
anywhere else ; so we may not leave until 
spring. We went to the opera last night, and 
saw Faust again. You remember my telling 
you about going to see Faiist in London the 
first time I wore the rose-pink satin. I wore 
the same dress last night, and Lady Throck- 
morton lent me some of her diamonds, and 
made Splaighton puff my hair in a new way. 
Splaighton is my maid, and I don't know what 
to do with her, sometimes, Pamela. You know 
I am used to waiting on myself, and she is so 
serious and dignified that I feel half ashamed 
to let her do things for me. Two or three 
gentlemen, who knew Lady Throckmorton, 
came into our box, and were introduced to 
me. One of them (I think Lady Throckmorton 
said he was an attaM^ called on us this morn- 
ing, and brought some lovely flowers. I must 
not forget to tell you about my beautiful 


II2 


‘‘Theor 


morning robes. One of them is a white merino, 
trimmed with black velvet, and I am sure we 
should think it pretty enough for a party dress 
at home. I am glad you liked your little 
present, my darling Pam. Give my dearest 
love to Joanna and Elin, and tell them I am 
saving my pocket money to buy them some 
real Parisian dresses with. Love and kisses 
to mamma and the boys from 

''Your Theo.’’ 

She did not know, this affectionate, hand’ 
some Theo, that when she wrote this innocent, 
schoolgirl letter, she might have made it a 
record of triumphs innumerable, though uncon- 
scious. She had never dreamed for a moment 
that it was the face at Lady Throckmorton’s 
side that had caused such a sudden accession 
to the list of the faithful. But this was the 
case, nevertheless, and Lady Throckmorton 
was by no means unconscious of it. Of course, 
it was quite natural that people who had for- 
gotten her in London should remember her in 
Paris ; but it was even more natural that per- 
sons who did not care for her at all, should be 
filled with admiration for Theo in rose-colored 


^‘Tkeor 


‘ 113 


satin. And so it was. Such a change came 
over the girl’s life all at once, that, as it revealed 
itself to her, she was tempted to rub her bright 
eyes in her doubt as to the reality of it. 

Two weeks after she reached Paris she awoke 
and found herself famous ; she, Theodora North, 
to whom, as yet, Downport, and shabbiness, 
and bread-and-butter cutting, were the only 
things that appeared real enough not to vanish 
at a touch. People of whom she had read six 
months ago, regarding their very existence as 
almost mythical, flattered, applauded, followed 
her. They talked of her, they praised her, 
they made high-flown speeches to her, at 
which she blushed, and glowed, and opened 
her lovely eyes. She was glad they liked 
her, grateful for their attentions, half-con- 
fused under them ; but it was some time 
before she understood the full meaning of 
thejr homage. In rose-colored satin and dia- 
monds she dazzled them ; but in simple white 
muslin, with a black-velvet ribbon about her 
perfect throat, and a great white rose in her 
dark hair, she was a glowing young goddess, 
of whom they raved extravagantly, and who 
might have made herself a fashion, if she had 
8 


The o'. 


114 

been born a few years earlier, and been born 
in Paris. 

Lady Throckmorton was actually proud of 
her, and committed extravagances she might 
have repented of if the girl had not been so 
affectionately grateful and tractable. Then, as 
might be expected, there arose out of the train 
the indefatigable adorer, who is the fate of 
every pretty or popular girl. But in this case 
he was by no means unpleasant. He was 
famous, witty, and fortunate. He was no less 
a personage than the attache^ of whom she had 
written to Pamela, and his name was Victor 
Maurien. He had been before all the rest, and 
so had gained some slight footing, which he 
was certainly not the man to relinquish. He 
had gained ground with Lady Throckmorton 
too, and in Denis Oglethorpe's absence, had 
begun almost to fill his place. He was grace- 
ful, faithful in her ladyship's service ; he talked 
politics with her when she was gravely in- 
clined, and told her the news when she was in 
a good humor ; he was indefatigable and digni- 
fied at once, which is a rare combination ; and 
he thought his efforts well rewarded by a seat 
at Theo's side in their box in the theater, or by 


the privilege of handing her to her carriage, 
and gaining a few farewell words as he bade 
her good night. He was not like the resf either. 
It was not entirely her beauty which had en- 
chanted him, though, like all Frenchmen, he 
was a passionate worshiper of the beautiful. 
The sweet soul in her eyes had touched his 
heart. Her ignorance had done more to 
strengthen it than anything she could have 
done. There was not a spark of coquetry in 
her whole nature. She listened to his poetic 
speeches, wondering but believing — wondering 
how they could be true of her, yet trusting 
him and all the world too seriously to accuse 
him of anything but partiality. 

To the last day of his life Victor Maurien 
will not forget one quiet evening, when he went 
to the hotel and found Theodora North by 
herself, in their private parlor, reading an 
English letter by the blaze of a candelabra. 
It had arrived that very day from Downport, 
and something in it had touched her, for when 
she rose to greet him, her gypsy eyes were 
mistily soft. 

They began to draw near to each other that 
night. Unconsciously she drifted into confid- 


ii6 


‘‘Theor 


ing to him the yearnings toward the home 
whose shadows and sharpnesses absence had 
softened. It was singular how much pleasanter 
everything seemed, now she looked back upon 
it in the past. Downport was not an un- 
pleasant place after all. She could remem- 
ber times when the sun shone upon the dingy 
little town and the wide spread of beach, and 
made it almost pretty. 

‘‘ I am afraid I did not love them all enough,” 
she said. Lady Throckmorton does not in- 
tend that I shall go there to remain again ; 
but if I were to go, I feel as if I could help 
them more — Pamela, you know, and mamma. 
I want to send Joanna and Elin something, to 
show them that I don't forget them at all. I 
think I should like to send them some pretty 
dresses. Joanna is fair, and she always wanted 
a pale blue silk. Do you think a pale blue silk 
would be very expensive, M. Maurien ? ” 

She started, and colored a little the next mo- 
ment, recognizing the oddity of her speech, 
and her little laugh was very sweet to hear. 

I forgot,” she said. How should you 
know, to be sure. Political men don't care 
about pale blue silk, do they?” And she 


Theor 


117 

laughed again, such a fresh, enjoyable little 
laugh, that he was ready to fall down and wor- 
ship her in his impulsive French fashion. Until 
Lady Throckmorton came, she amused him 
with talking of England and the English peo- 
ple. He could have listened to her forever. 
She told him about Downport and its small 
lions, unconsciously showing him more of her 
past life than she fancied. Then, of course, 
she at last came to Broome Street, and Miss 
Elizabeth, aiid Miss Priscilla, and — Mr. Denis 
Oglethorpe. 

He is very talented, indeed,'' she said. 

He has written, oh! a great deal. He once 
wrote a book of poems. I have the volume in 
one of my trunks." 

He looked at her quietly but keenly when 
she said this, and he did not need more than 
a second glance to understand more than she 
understood herself. He read where Mr. Denis 
Oglethorpe stood, by the sudden inner light 
in her eyes, and the fluctuation of rich color 
in her bright glowing face. He was struck 
with a secret pang in a second. There would 
be so frail a thread of hope for the man who 
was only second with a girl like this one. 


ii8 


‘‘TheoT 


I know the gentleman you speak of/' he 
said aloud. We all know him. He is a popu- 
lar man. I saw him only a few weeks ago." 

Her eyes flashed up to his — the whole of her 
face flashed with electric Jight. 

Did you ? " she said. Where was he ? I 
didn’t know ’’ and there she stopped. 

‘‘ He was here," was the answer. ‘‘ In Paris 
— in this very hotel, the day before you came 
here. He had overworked himself, I think. 
He was looking paler than usual, and somewhat 
worn out. It was fatigue, I suppose." 

Her eyes fell, and the light died away. She 
was thinking to herself that he might have 
waited twenty-four hours longer — only a day — 
such a short time. Just at that moment she 
felt passionately that she could not bear to let 
him go back to England and Priscilla Gower 
without a farewell word. 

In all the whirl of excitement that filled her 
life, through all the days that were full of it, 
and the nights that were fairly dazzling to her 
unaccustomed eyes, she never forgot Denis 
Oglethorpe. She remembered him always in 
the midst of all, and now her remembrance was 
of a different kind ; there was more pain in it. 


^‘Theo'' 


119 

more unrest, more longing and strength. She 
had ripened wonderfully since that last night 
in Broome Street. 

Among the circle of Lady Throckmorton's 
friends, and even beyond its pale, she was a 
goddess this winter. Her freshness of beauty 
carried all before it, and this her first season 
was a continuation of girlish triumphs. The 
chief characteristic of her loveliness was that 
it inspired people with a sort of enthusiasm. 
When she entered a room a low murmur of 
pleasure followed her. There was not a man 
who had exchanged a word with her who would 
not have been ready to perform absurdities as 
well as impossibilities for her sweet young 
sake. 

How kind people are to me," she would say 
to Lady Throckmorton. I can hardly believe 
it sometimes. Oh, how Joanna and Elin would 
like Paris ! " 

They had been two months in Paris, and in 
the meantime had heard nothing from Denis 
Oglethorpe. He had not written to Lady 
Throckmorton since the letter dated from 
Vienna, so they supposed he had lost sight of 
them and thought writing useless. There 


120 


^‘Theor 


were times when Theo tried to make up her 
mind that she had seen him for the last time 
before his marriage, but there were times again 
when, on going out, her last glance at her mir- 
ror had a thrill of expectation in it that was al- 
most a pang. 

She was sitting in their box in the theater 
one night, half listening to Maurien, half to 
the singers, and wondering dreamily what was 
going on in Broome Street at the moment, 
when she suddenly became conscious of a 
slight stir among the people in the seats on 
the other side of the house. She turned her 
face quickly, as if she had been magnetized. 
Making his way toward their box was a man 
whom at first she saw mistily, in a moment 
more quite clearly. Her heart began to beat 
faster than it had ever beaten in her young 
life, her hand closed upon her bouquet-holder 
with a nervous strength ; she turned her face 
to the stage in the excited, happy, and yet 
fearing tremor that took possession of her in 
a second. By some caprice or chance they 
had come to see Faust again, and the Margue- 
rite who had been their attraction, was at this 
very moment standing upon the stage, repeat- 


^‘Theor 


I2I 


ing softly her simple, pathetic little love- 
spell, 

“ Erliebt inich^ er liebt mich nichtr 

Theo found herself saying it after Margue- 
rite to the beating of her heart. Er liebt 

mich^ er liebt mich nicht, Er liebt michy '' 

and there she stopped, breathlessly, for the 
box door opened, and Denis Oglethorpe en- 
tered. 

She had altered so much since they had last 
met that she scarcely dared to look at him, 
even after the confusion of greetings and for- 
malities was over, and he had answered Lady 
Throckmorton's questions, and explained to 
her the cause of his protracted wandering — for 
though she did not meet his eyes, she knew 
that he was altered, too. He looked worn and 
fatigued, she thought, and there was a new un- 
rest in his expression. 

It was fully a quarter of an hour before he 
left Lady Throckmorton and came to her side; 
but when he did so, something in his face or 
air, perhaps, made Victor Maurien give way to 
his greater need in an impulse of generosity. 

There was a moment's silence between them 
after he sat down, during which, in her excited 


122 


‘‘ Theor 


shyness, Theo only looked at Marguerite with 
a fluttering of rich, warm color on her cheeks. 
It was he who ended the pause himself. 

‘‘Are you glad to see me, Theodora? '' he 
said, in a low, unsteady voice. 

“Yes,” she answered, tremulously. “I am 
glad.” 

“ Thank you,” he returned. “ And yet it 
was chance that brought me here. I was not 
even sure you were in Paris until I saw you 
from the other side of the house a few mo- 
ments ago. I wonder, my dear Theodora,” 
slipping into the old careless, whimsical man- 
ner, “ I wonder if I am doomed to be a ras- 
cal ? ” 

It might be that her excitement made her 
nervous ; at any rate there was a choking 
throb in her throat, as she answered him.. 

“If you please,” she whispered, “ don’t.” 

His face softened, as if he was sorry for her 
girlish distress. He was struck with a fancy 
that if he were cruel enough to persist, he 
could make her cry. And then the relapse into 
the old manner had only been a relapse after 
all, and had even puzzled himself a little. So 
he was quiet for a while. 




Theor 


123 


‘‘And so it is Faust again,” he said, break- 
ing the silence. “ Do you remember what you 
said to me the first time you saw Faust, Theo- 
dora — the night the rose-colored satin came 
home ? Do you remember telling me that you 
could die for love’s sake ? I wonder if you 
have changed your mind, among all the fine 
people you have seen, and all the fine speeches 
you have heard. I met one of Lady Throck- 
morton’s acquaintances in Bordeaux, a few 
days ago, and he told me a wonderful story of 
a young lady who was then turning the wise 
heads of half the political Parisians — a sort of 
enchanted princess, with a train of adorers 
ready to kiss the hem of her garment.” 

He was endeavoring to be natural, and was 
failing wretchedly. His voice was actually 
sad, and she had never heard it sad in all their 
intercourse before. She had never thought it 
could be sad, and the sound was something 
like a revelation of the man. It made her 
afraid of herself — afraid for herself. And yet 
above all this arose a thrill of happiness which 
was almost wild. He was near her again ! he 
had not gone away, he would not go away yet. 
Yet! there was a girl’s foolish, loving comfort 


124 


“ Theo^ 


in the word ! It seemed so impossible that 
she could lose him forever, that for the brief 
moment she forgot Priscilla Gower and justice 
altogether. In three months the whole world 
had altered its face to her vision. She had al- 
tered herself ; her life had altered she knew, 
but she did not know that she had been hap- 
pier in her ignorance of her own heart than 
she could be now in her knowledge of it. 

Her little court were not very successful to- 
night. Denis Oglethorpe kept his place at her 
side with a persistence which baffled the bold- 
est of her admirers, and she was too happy to 
remember the rest of the world. It was not 
very polite, perhaps, and certainly it was not 
very wise to forget everything but that she 
herself was not forgotten ; but she forgot 
everything else — this pretty Theo, this hand- 
some and impolitic Theo. She did not care 
for her court, though she was sweet-tempered- 
ly grateful to her courtiers for their homage. 
She did care for Denis Oglethorpe. Ah, poor 
Priscilla! He went home with them to their 
hotel. He stayed, too, to eat of the petite soti- 
per Lady Throckmorton had ordered. Her 
ladyship had a great deal to say to him, and 


^‘Theor 


I2S 


a great number of questions to ask, so he sat 
with them for an hour or so accounting for 
himself and replying to numberless queries, all 
the time very conscious of Theo, who sat by 
the fire in a mist of white drapery and soft, 
thick, white wraps, the light from the wax tapers 
flickering in Pamela's twinkling sapphires, and 
burning in the great crimson-hearted rose fas- 
tened in the puffs of her hair. 

But Lady Throckmorton remembered at last 
that she had to give some orders to her maid, 
and so for a moment they were left together. 

Then he went to the white figure at the fire 
and stood before it, losing something of both 
color and calmness. He was going to be 
guilty of a weakness, and, knowing it, could not 
control himself. He was not so great a hero 
as she had fancied him, after all. But it would 
have been very heroic to have withstood a 
temptation so strong and so near. 

Theo," he said, the man who ran away 
from the danger he dared not face is a greater 
coward than he fancied. The chances have 
been against him, too. I suppose to-night he 
must turn his back to it again, but " 

She stopped him all at once with a little 


126 


Theol 


% 

cry. She had been so happy an hour ago, 
that she could not fail to be weak now. Her 
face dropped upon the hands on her lap, and 
was hidden there. The crimson-hearted rose 
slipped from her hair and fell to her feet. 

No, no ! '' she cried. Don't go. It is 
only for a little while ; don't go yet ! " 


^‘TheoT 


127 


CHAPTER VII. 

AND GOOD-BYE. 

He did not go away. He could not yet. 
He stayed in Paris, day after day, even week 
after week, lingering through a man's very hu- 
man weakness. He could no longer resist the 
knowledge of the fact that he had lost the best 
part of the battle ; he had lost it in being com- 
pelled to acknowledge the presence of danger 
by flight ; he had lost it completely after this by 
being forced to admit to himself that there 
was not much more to lose, that in spite of his 
determination, Theodora North had filled his 
whole life and nature as Priscilla Gower had 
never filled it, and could never fill it, were she 
his wife for a thousand years. He had made a 
mistake, and discovered having made it too 
late — that was all ; but he blamed himself for 
having made it; blamed himself for being 
blind ; blamed himself more than all for hav- 
ing discovered his blindness and his blunder. 
Thinking thus, he resolved to go away. Yes, 
he would go away ! He would marry Priscilla 


128 


‘‘Theor 


at once, and have it over. He would put an 
impassable barrier between himself and Theo. 

But, though he reproached himself, and an- 
athematized himself, and resolved to go away, 
he did not leave Paris. He stayed in the face 
of his remorseful wretchedness. It was a terri- 
ble moral condition to be in, but he absolutely 
gave up, for the time, to the force of circum- 
stances, and floated recklessly with the current. 

If he had loved Theodora North when he 
left her for Priscilla's sake, he loved her ten 
thousand fold, when he forebore to leave her 
for her own. He loved her passionately, 
blindly, jealously. He envied every man who 
won a smile from her, even while his weakness 
angered him. She had changed greatly during 
their brief separation, but the change grew 
deeper after they had once again encountered 
each other. She was more conscious of herself, 
more fearful, less innocently frank. She did 
not reveal herself to him as she had once done. 
There is a stage of love in which frankness is 
at once unnatural and impossible, and she had 
reached this stage. Even her letters to Pris- 
cilla were not frank after his reappearance. 

Since the night of their interview after their 


Theor 


129 


return from the theater, he had not referred 
openly to his reasons for remaining. He had 
held himself to the letter of his bond so far, at 
least, though he was often sorely tempted. He 
visited Lady Throckmorton and Theo as he 
had visited them in London, and was their at- 
tendant cavalier upon most occasions, but be- 
yond that he rarely transgressed. It was by 
no means a pleasant position for a man in love 
to occupy. The whole world was between him 
and his love it seemed. The most infatuated 
of Theodora North’s adorers did not fear him, 
handsome and popular as he was, dangerous 
rival as he might have appeared. Lady 
Throckmorton’s world knew the history of 
their favorite, having learned it as society in- 
variably learns such things. Most of them 
knew that his fate had been decided for years ; 
all of them knew that his stay in Paris could 
not be a long one. A man whose marriage is 
to be celebrated in June, has not many months 
to lose between February and May. 

But this did not add to the comfort of Denis 
Oglethorpe. The rest of Theo’s admirers had 
a right to speak — he must be silent. The 
shallowest of them might ask a hearing — he 
9 


130 


Theor 

% 

dare not for his dishonored honor’s sake. So, 
even while nearest to her he stood afar off, as 
it were, a witness to the innocent triumph of 
a girlish popularity that galled him intole- 
rably. He puzzled her often in these days, and 
out of her bewilderment grew a vague unhap- 
piness. 

And yet, in spite of this, her life grew peril- 
ously sweet at times. Only a few months ago 
she had dreamed of such bliss as Jane Eyre’s 
and Zulieka’s, wonderingly ; but there were 
brief moments now and then when she be- 
lieved in it faithfully. She was very unselfish 
in her girlish passion. She thought of nothing 
but the wondrous happiness love could bring 
to her. She would have given up all her new 
luxuries and triumphs for Denis Oglethorpe’s 
sake. She would have gone back to Down- 
port with him, to the old life; to the mend- 
ing, and bread-and-butter cutting, and shabby 
dresses ; she would have taken it all up again 
cheerfully, without thinking for one moment 
that she had made a sacrifice. Downport 
would have been a paradise with him. She 
was wonderfully devoid of calculation or 
worldly wisdom, if she had only been conscious 


^^Theoy 13 1 

of it. An absurdly loving, simple, impolitic 
young person was this Theodora of ours. 

Among the many of the girl's admirers 
whom Denis Oglethorpe envied jealously, per- 
haps the one most jealously envied was Victor 
Maurien. A jealous man might have feared 
him with reason under any circumstances, and 
Denis chafed at his good fortune miserably. 
The man who had the honorable right to suc- 
cess could not fail to torture him. 

It would be an excellent match for Theo," 
was Lady Throckmorton's complacent com- 
ment on the subject of the attache's visit, and 
the comment was made to Denis himself. 

M. Maurien is the very man to take good 
care of her ; and, besides that, he is, of course, 
desirable. Girls like Theo ought to marry 
young. Marriage is their forte ; they are too 
dependent to be left to themselves. Theo is 
not like Pamela, or your Priscilla Gower, for in- 
stance ; queenly as Theo looks, she is the veriest 
strengthless baby on earth. It is a source of * 
wonder to me where she got the regal air.'’ 

But, perhaps, Lady Throckmorton did not 
understand her lovely young relative fully. 
She did not take into consideration a certain 


132 




mental ripening process which had gone on 
slowly, but surely, during the last few months. 
The time came when Theodora North began 
to comprehend her powers, and feel the change 
in herself sadly. Then it was that she ceased 
to be frank with Denis Oglethorpe, and began 
to feel a not fully defined humiliation and re- 
morse. 

Coming in unexpectedly once, Denis found 
her sitting all alone, with open book in her lap, 
and eyes brooding over the fire. He knew the 
volume well enough at sight; it was the half- 
forgotten, long-condemned collection of his 
youthful poems ; and when she saw him, she 
shut it up, and laid her folded hands upon it, 
as if she did not wish him to recognize it. 

He was in one of his most unhappy moods, 
for some reason or other, and so unreasonable 
was his frame of mind, that the movement, 
simple as it was, galled him bitterly. 

Will you tell me why you did that?'^ he 
asked, abruptly. 

Her eyes fell upon the carpet at her feet, but 
she sat with her hands still clasped upon the 
half-concealed book, without answering him. 

‘Wou would not have done it three months 


Theoy 


133 


ago/' he said, almost wrathfully, and the 
thing is not more worthless now than it was 
then, though it was worthless enough. Give it 
to me, and let me fling it into the fire." 

She looked up at him, all at once, and her 
eyes were full to the brim. Lady Throckmor- 
ton was right in one respect. She was strength- 
less enough sometimes. She was worse than 
strengthless against Denis Oglethorpe. 

Don't be angry with me," she said, almost 
humbly. I don't think you could be angry 
with me if you knew how unhappy I am to- 
day." And the tears that had brimmed up- 
ward fell upon the folded hands themselves. 

Why to-day? " he asked, softening with far 
more reason than he had been galled. What 
has to-day brought, Theodora?" 

She answered him with a soft little gasp of a 
remorseful sob. It has brought M. Maurien," 
she confessed. 

And sent him away again ? " he added, in a 
low, unsteady voice. 

She nodded ; her pimple, pathetic sorrowful- 
ness showing itself even in the poor little ges- 
ture. 

‘‘ He has been very fond of me for a long 


134 


“ Theo!' 


time/' she said, tremulously. He says that 
he loves me. He came to ask me to be his 
wife. I am very sorry for him." 

Why ? " he asked again, unsteadily. 

I was obliged to make him unhappy," she 
answered. I do not love him." 

‘‘Why?" he repeated yet again; but his 
voice had sunk into a whisper. 

“ Because," she said, trembling all over now 
— “ because I cannot." 

He could not utter another word. There 
was such danger for him, and his periled honor, 
in her simple tremor and sadness, that he was 
forced to be silent. 

It was not safe to follow M. Maurien at least. 
But, as might be anticipated, their conversa- 
tion flagged in no slight degree. The hearts 
of both were so full of one subject that it 
would have been hard to force them to an- ^ 
other. Theo, upon her low sultaiie, sat mute, 
with drooped eyes, becoming more silent eveiy 
moment. Oglethorpe, in regarding her beau- 
tiful downcast face, forgot himself also. It 
was almost half an hour before he remembered 
he had not made the visit without an object. 
He had something to say to her — something 


Theoi: 


135 


he had once said to her before. He was go- 
ing away again, and had come to tell her so. 
But he recollected himself at last. 

‘‘ I must not forget that I had a purpose in 
coming here to-night/' he said. 

A purpose ? " she repeated, after him. 

Yes," he answered. I found last night, on 
returning to my hotel, that there was a letter 
awaiting me from London — from my employers 
in fact. I must leave Paris to-morrow morning." 

And will you not come back again," she 
added, breathlessly almost. The news was so 
sudden that it made her breathless. This was 
the last time — the very last ! 

They might never see each other again in 
this world, and if they did ever chance to 
meet, Priscilla Gower would be his wife. And 
yet he was standing there now, only a few feet 
^ from her, so near that her outstretched hand 
would touch him. The full depth of misery in 
the thought flashed upon her all at once, and 
drove the blood back to her heart. 

^^Why?" she gasped out unconsciously, 
through the very strength of her pangs. “ You 
are going away forever." 

She scarcely knew that she had uttered the 


136 


Theor 


words until she saw how deathly pale he grew. 
The beads of moisture started out upon his 
forehead, and his nervous hand went up to 
brush them away. 

'‘Not forever, I trust,’' he said, huskily. 
^'Only until — until ” 

" Until July,” she ended for him ; " until you 
are married to Miss Priscilla Gower.” 

She held up one little, trembling, dusky 
hand and actually began to tell the intervening 
months off her fingers. She was trying so hard 
to calm herself that she did not think what she 
was doing. She only knew she must do or say 
something. 

"How many months will it be?” she said. 
"It is February now; March, April, May, 
June, July. Five months — not quite five, per- 
haps. We may not be here, then. Lady 
Throckmorton intends to visit the spas during 
the summer.” 

From the depths of her heart she was pray- 
ing that some chance might take them away 
from Paris before he returned. It would be 
his bridal tour — Priscilla’s bridal tour. Ah, if 
some wildly happy dream had only chanced to 
make it her bridal tour, and she could have 


‘‘ Theo, 


137 


gone with him as Priscilla would, from place to 
place ; near him all the time, loving and trust- 
ing him always, depending on him, obedient to 
his lightest wishes. Priscilla was far too self- 
restrained to ever be as foolishly, thrilling- 
ly tender and fond and happy as she, Theo- 
dora North, would have been. She could have 
given a little sob of despair and pain as she 
thought of it. 

As it was, the hopeless, foolish tears rose up 
to her large eyes, and made them liquid and 
soft ; and when they rose, Denis Oglethorpe 
saw them. Such beautiful eyes as they were ; 
such ignorant, believing, fawn-like eyes. The 
eyes alone would have unmanned him — under 
the tears he broke down utterly, and so was 
left without a shadow of control. 

He crossed the hearth with a stride and 
stood close to her, his whole face ablaze with 
the fierceness of his remorseful self-reproach 
and the power^of his love. 

‘^Listen to me, Theo,'' he said. ‘^Let me 
confess to you ; let me tell you the truth for 
once. I am a coward and a villain. I was a 
villain to ask a woman I did not truly love to 
be my wife. I am a coward to shrink from the 


138 


^'Theor 


result of my vanity and madness. She is bet- 
ter than I am — this woman who has promised 
herself to me ; she is stronger, truer, purer ; 
she has loved me, she has been faithful to me ; 
and God knows I honor and revere her. I am 
not worthy to kiss the ground her feet have 
trodden upon. I was vain fool enough to 
think I could make her happy by giving to her 
all she did not ask for — my life, my work, my 
strength — not remembering that Heaven had 
given her the sacred right to more. She has 
held to our bond for years, and now see how it 
has ended ! I stand here before you to-night, 
loving you, adoring you, worshiping you, and 
knowing myself a dishonored man, a weak 
coward, whose truth is lost forever. 

I do not ask you for a -word. I do not say 
a word further. I will not perjure myself more 
deeply. I only say this as a farewell confes- 
sion. It will be farewell ; we shall never see 
each other again on earth, perhaps ; and if we 
do, an impassable gulf will lie between us. I 
shall go back to England and hasten the mar- 
riage if I can ; and then, if a whole life’s strenu- 
ous exertions and constant care and tender- 
ness will wipe out the dishonor my weakness 


^‘Theor 


139 


has betrayed me into, it shall be wiped out. I 
do not say one word of love to you, because I 
dare not. I only say, forgive me, forget me, 
and good-by.^' 

She had listened to him with a terrified light 
growing in her eyes ; but when he finished, she 
rose from her seat, shivering from head to foot. 

‘^Good-bye,’' she said, and let him take her 
cold, lithe, trembling hands. But the moment 
he touched them, his suppressed excitement 
and her own half-comprehended pain seemed 
to frighten her, and she began to try to draw 
them from his grasp. 

“ Go away, please,’' she said, with a wild 
little sob. I can’t bear it. I don’t want to 
be wicked, and perhaps I have been wicked, 
too. Miss Gower is better than I am — more 
worth loving. Oh, try to love her, and — and 
— only go away now, and let me be alone.” 

She ended in an actual little moan. She 
was shivering and sobbing, hard as she tried 
to govern herself. And yet, though this man 
loved her, and would have given half his life to 
snatch her to his arms and rain kisses of com- 
fort upon her, he let the cold little hand drop, 
and in a moment more had left her. 


140 


^‘Theor 


CHAPTER VIII. 

YOU ARE MAKING A MISTAKE. 

He had been gone three days, and, in their 
lapse, Theo felt as if three lustrums had passed. 
Their parting had been so unexpected, that 
she could not get used to it, or believe it 
was anything else but a painful dream. After 
all, it seemed that Fortune was crueler than 
she had imagined possible. He was gone, and 
to Priscilla Gower; and she had never been 
able to believe that some alteration, of which 
she had no very definite conception, would oc- 
cur, and end her innocent little ghost of a love- 
story, as all love-stories should be ended. It 
had never been more than the ghost of a story. 
Until that last night he had never uttered a 
word of love to her ; he had never even made 
the fine speeches to her which she might have 
expected, and, doubtless, would have expected, 
if she had been anybody else but Theodora 
North. She had not expected them, though, 
and, consequently, was not disappointed when 
she did not receive them. But she found her- 


self feeling terribly lonely after Denis Ogle- 
thorpe left Paris. The first day she felt more 
stunned than anything else. The second her 
sensibilities began to revive keenly, and she 
was full of sad, desperate wonder concerning 
him — concerning how he would feel when he 
stood face to face with Priscilla Gower; how 
he would look, what he would say to her. The 
third day was only the second intensified, and 
filled with a something that was almost like a 
terror now and then. 

It was upon this third day that Lady 
Throckmorton was unexpectedly called away. 
A long-lost friend of her young days had sud- 
denly made her appearance at Rouen, and 
having, by chance, heard of her ladyship’s 
presence in Paris, had written to her a letter of 
invitation, which the ties of their girlhood ren- 
dered almost a command. So to Rouen her 
ladyship went, for once leaving Theo behind. 
Madam St. Etienne was an invalid, and the 
visit could not be a very interesting one to a 
young girl. This was one reason why she was 
left — the other was the more important one 
that she did not wish to go, and made her 
wishes known. She was not sorry for the 


142 


Theo^ 


chance of being left to herself for a few days 
— it would be only a few days at most. 

Besides/' said Lady Throckmorton, looking 
at her a trifle curiously, you do not look well 
yourself. Theo, you look feverish, or nervous, 
or something of the kind. How was it I 
did not notice it before? You must have 
caught cold. Yes, I believe I must leave you 
here." 

Consequently, Theo was left. She was quiet 
enough, too, when her ladyship had taken her 
departure. It was generally supposed that 
Miss North had accompanied her chaperon, 
and so she had very few callers. She spent the 
greater part of her time in the apartment in 
which Denis Oglethorpe had bidden her fare- 
well, and, as may be easily imagined, it did not 
add to her lightness of spirit to sit in her old 
seat and ponder over the past in the silence of 
the deserted room. She arose from her otto- 
man one night, and walked to one of the great 
mirrors that extended from floor to ceiling. 
She saw herself in it as she advanced — a regal 
young figure, a face that was half child's, half 
woman's, and yet wholly perfect in its fresh 
young life and beauty. Seeing this reflection, 


Theo'^ 143 

she stopped and looked at it, in a swift recog- 
nition of a new thought. 

Oh, Pam ! ’’ she cried out, piteously. Oh, 
my poor, darling, faded Pam. You were pret- 
ty once, too, very, — dear, pretty, and young. 
And you were happier than I can be, for Ar- 
thur only died. Nobody came between your 
love and you — nobody ever could. He died, 
but he was yours, Pam, and you were his.’' 

She cried piteously and passionately when 
she went back to her seat, rested her arm upon 
a lounging-chair near her, and hid her face 
upon it, crying as only a girl can, with an inno- 
cent grief that had a pathos of its own. She 
was so lovely and remorseful. It seemed to 
her that some fault must have been hers, and 
she blamed herself that even now she could 
not wish that she had never met the man 
whose love for her was a dishonor to himself. 
Where was he now? He had told Lady 
Throckmorton that business would call him to 
several smaller towns on his way, so he might 
not be very far from Paris yet. She was think- 
ing of this when at last she fell asleep sitting 
by the fire, still resting her hand upon the 
chair by her side. It was by no means unnat- 


144 


“Theor 


ural, though by no means poetic, that her girhs 
pain should end so. 

But when the time-piece on the mantel chimed 
twelve with its silver tongue, she found herself 
suddenly and unaccountably wide awake. She 
sat up and looked about her. It was not the 
clock's chime that had awakened her she 
thought. It must have been something more, 
she was so very wide awake indeed, and her 
senses were so clear. One minute later she 
found out what it was. There was some slight 
confusion down stairs ; a door was opened and 
closed, and she heard the sound of voices in 
the entrance-hall. She turned her head, and 
listening attentively, discovered that some one 
was coming up to the room in which she sat. 
The door opened, and upon the threshold 
stood a servant, bearing in his hand a salver, 
and upon the salver a queer, official-looking 
document, such as she did not remember ever 
having seen before. 

telegram," he said, rapidly, in French, 
for milady. They had thought it better to 
acquaint Mad’moiselle." 

She took it from him, and opened it slowly 
and mechanically. She read it mechanically 


‘‘Theor 


145 

also — read It twice before she comprehended 
its full meaning, so great was the shock it gave 
her. Then she started from her seat with a cry 
that made the servant start also. 

‘‘Send Splaighton to me,’’ she said, “this 
minute, without a moment’s delay.” 

For the telegram she had just read told her 
that in a wayside inn, at St. Quentin, Denis 
Oglethorpe lay dying, or so near it that the 
medical man had thought it his duty to send 
for the only friend who was on the right side 
of Calais, and that friend, whose name he had 
discovered by chance, was Lady Throckmorton. 

It was, of course, a terribly unwise thing that 
Theodora North decided upon doing an hour 
later. Only such a girl as she was, or as her 
life had necessarily made her, would have hit 
upon a plan so loving, so wild and indiscreet. 
But it did not occur to her, even for a second, 
that there was any other thing to do. She 
must go to him herself in Lady Throckmor- 
ton’s stead ; she must take Splaighton with 
her, and go try to take care of him until Lady 
Throckmorton came, or could send for Priscilla 
Gower and Miss Elizabeth. 

“ M’amselle,” began the stricken Splaighton, 

lO 


146 


‘‘Theor 


when, as she stood before the erect young fig- 
ure and desperate young face, this desperate 
plan was hurriedly revealed to her. Ma’m- 
selle, you forget the imprudence 

But Theo stopped her, quite ignorant of the 
fact, that by doing so, she forfeited her repu- 
tation in Splaighton’s eyes forever. 

He is going to die ! '' she said, with a wild 
little sob in her voice. ‘‘ And he is all alone 
— and — and he was to have been married, 
Splaighton, in July — only a few months from 
now. Oh, poor Priscilla Gower! Oh, poor 
girl! We must save him. I must go now and 
try to save him for her. Oh, if I could just 
have Pamela with me."' 

The woman saw at once that remonstrance 
would be worse than useless. It was slowly 
revealed to her that this despairing, terrified 
young creature would not understand her re- 
sistance in the slightest degree. She would 
not comprehend what it meant ; so, while 
Splaighton packed up a few necessary articles, 
Theo superintended her, following her from 
place to place, with a longing impatience that 
showed itself in every word and gesture. She 
did not dare to do more, poor child. She had 


“Theor 


147 


never overcome her secret awe of her waiting 
woman. In her inexperienced respect for her, 
she even apologized pathetically and appeal- 
ingly for the liberty she was taking in calling 
upon her. 

I am sorry to trouble you,'’ she said, hum- 
bly, and feeling terribly homesick as she said 
it ; but I could not go alone, you know — and 
I must go. There is a lace collar in that little 
box, that you may have, Splaighton. It is a 
pretty collar, and I will give you the satin bow 
that is fastened to it." 

Scarcely two hours later they were on their 
way to St. Quentin. It never occurred to 
Theo, in the midst of her fright and unhappi- 
ness, that she was now doing a very unwise 
and dangerous thing. She only thought of one 
thing, that Denis was going to die. She loved 
him too much to think of herself at all, and, 
besides, she did not, poor innocent, know any- 
thing about such things. 

It was a wonderful trial of the little old 
French doctor’s calmness of mind, when, on his 
next visit to his patient, he found himself con- 
fronted by a tall young creature, with a pale, 
desperate face, and lovely tear-fraught eyes. 


148 


‘^TheoT 


instead of by the majestic, elderly person, the 
perusal of Lady Throckmorton's last letter to 
Denis had led him to expect. It was in the 
little inn parlor that he first encountered Theo- 
dora North, when she arrived, and on seeing 
her he gazed over his spectacles, first at her- 
self, and then at the respectable Splaighton, in 
a maze of bewilderment, at seemingly having 
made so strange a blunder. 

Lady Throckmorton ? " he said, at last, in 
English, or in a broken attempt at it. Oh ! 
Oui — I understand. The sister of monsieur? 
Ah, milady ? " 

Theo broke in upon him in a passionate im- 
pulse of fear and grief. 

No," she said. ‘‘I am not Lady Throck- 
morton. I am only her niece, Theodora North. 
My aunt was away when your telegram ar- 
rived, and — and I knew some one must come 
— so I came myself. Splaighton and I can 
take care of Mr. Oglethorpe. Oh, monsieur, is 
it true that he is dying ? — will he never get 
well ? How could it happen ! He was so 
strong only a few days since. He must not 
die. It cannot be true that he will die — he has 
so many friends who love him." 


‘‘Theor 


149 


Monsieur, the doctor, softened perceptibly 
under this ; she was so young and innocent- 
looking, this girlish little English mademoiselle. 
Monsieur up-stairs must be a lucky man to 
have won her tender young heart so utterly. 
Strange and equivocal a thing as the pretty 
child (she seemed a child to him) was doing, 
he never for an instant doubted the ignorant 
faith and love that shone in the depths of her 
beautiful agonized eyes. He bowed to her as 
deferentially as to a sultana, when he made his 
answer. 

It had been an accident,’' he commenced. 
“ The stage had overturned on its way, and 
monsieur being in it, had been thrown out by 
its falling into a gully. His collar-bone had 
been broken, and several of his ribs fractured ; 
but the worst of his injuries had been a gash 
on his head — a sharp stone had done it. Mad- 
emoiselle would understand wherein the dan- 
ger lay. He was unconscious at present.” 

This he told her on their way to the cham- 
ber up-stairs ; but even the gravity of his man- 
ner did not prepare her for the sight the open- 
ing of the door revealed to her. Handsome 
Denis Oglethorpe lay upon the narrow little 


/ 


ISO ^‘Theo^ 

bed with the face of a dying man, which is far 
worse than that of a dead man. There were 
spots of blood on his pillow and upon his gar- 
ments ; he was bandaged from head to foot, it 
seemed, with ghastly red, wet bandages ; his 
eyes were glazed, and his jaw half dropped. 

A low, wild cry broke from the pale lips of 
the figure in the doorway, and the next instant 
Theodora North had flown to the bedside and 
dropped upon her knees by it, hiding her 
deathly-stricken young face upon her lover’s 
lifeless hand, forgetting Splaighton, forgetting 
the doctor, forgetting even Priscilla Gower, 
forgetting all but that she, in this moment, 
knew that she could not give him up, even 
to the undivided quiet of death. 

He will die ! He will die ! ” she cried out. 

And I never told him. Oh, my love ! love ! 
Oh, my dearest dear ! ” 

The little old doctor drew back half way, 
through a suddenly stronger impulse of sympa- 
thy. He was uneasily conscious of the fact 
that the staid, elderly person at his side was 
startled and outraged simultaneously by this 
passionate burst of grief on the part of her 
young mistress. He had seen so many of 


^‘Theo:^ 


iSi 

these unprepossessing English waiting-women 
that he understood the state of her feelings as 
by instinct. He turned to her with all the 
blandness possible under the circumstances, 
and gave her an order which would call for her 
presence down-stairs. 

When she departed, as she did in a state 
bordering on petrifaction, he came forward to 
the bedside. He did not speak, however; 
merely looking down at his patient in a silence 
whose delicacy was worthy of honor, even in 
a shriveled, little, snuff-taking French village 
doctor. The pretty young mademoiselle would 
be calmer before many minutes had elapsed — 
his experience had taught him. And so she 
was. At least, her first shock of terror wore 
away, and she was calm enough to speak to 
him. She lifted her face from the motion- 
less hand, and looked up at him in a wild 
appeal for help, that was more than touch- 
ing. 

Don't say he will die ! " she prayed. Oh, 
monsieur, only save him, and we will bless you 
forever. I will nurse him so well. Only give 
me something to do, and see how faithful I 
shall prove. I shall never forget anything, and 


152 


^^Theo^ 


I shall never be tired — if — if he *can only live, 
monsieur,*’ the terrified catching of her breath 
making every little pause almost a sob. 

My child,” he answered her, with a grave 
touch of something quite like affection in his 
air, My child, I shall save him, if he is to 
be saved, and you shall help me.” 

How faithfully she held to the very letter of 
her promises, only this little, shriveled village 
doctor could say. How tender, and watchful, 
and loving she was, in her care of her charge, 
only he could bear witness. She was never 
tired — never forgetful. She held to her place 
in the poor little bedroom, day and night, with 
an intensity of zeal that was actually astonish- 
ing. Priscilla Gower and Pamela North might 
have been more calm — certainly would have 
been more self-possessed, but they could not 
have been more faithful. She obeyed every 
order given to her like a child. She sat by the 
bedside, hour after hour, day and night, watch- 
ing every change of symptom, noting every 
slight alteration of color or pulse. 

The friendship between herself and monsieur, 
the doctor, so strengthened that the confidence 
between them was unlimited. She was only 


^‘Theor 


153 


disobedient In one thing. She would not leave 
her place either for food or rest. She ate her 
poor little dinners near her patient, and, if the 
truth had been known, scarcely slept at all for 
the first two or three days. 

I could not sleep, you know,” she said to 
the doctor, her great pathetic eyes filling with 
tears. Please let me stay until Lady Throck- 
morton comes, at least.” 

So she stayed, and watched, and waited, 
quite alone, for nearly a week. But it seemed 
a much longer time to her. The poor, hand- 
some face changed so often in even those few 
days, and her passions of despair and hope 
were so often changed with it. She never 
thought of Priscilla Gower. Her love and fear 
were too strong to allow of her giving a 
thought to anything on earth but Denis Ogle- 
thorpe. Perhaps her only consolation had 
something of guilt in it; but it was so poor 
and desperate a comfort, this wretched one of 
hearing him speak to and of her in his fever 
and delirium. 

My poor, handsome Theo,” he would say. 

Why, my beauty, there are tears in your eyes. 
What a scoundrel I am, if I have brought them 


154 


‘‘Theor 


there. What ! the rose-colored satin again, my 
darling! Don't wear the rose-colored satin, 
Theo. It hurts my eyes. For God's sake, 
Priscilla, forgive me ! " 

And yet, even while they added to her ter- 
ror, these poor ravings were some vague com- 
fort, since they told her that he loved her. 
More than once her friend the doctor entered 
the room, and found her kneeling by the bed- 
side, holding the unresponsive hand, with a 
white face and wide, tearless eyes ; and seeing 
her thus, he read clearly that his pretty, inex- 
perienced protegee had more at stake than he 
had even at first fancied. 

It was about six days after Theodora North 
had arrived at St. Quentin, when, sitting at 
her post one morning, she heard the lumbering 
stage stop before the inn door. She rose 
and went to the window, half mechanically, 
half anxiously. At first it occurred to her 
that Lady Throckmorton had arrived. But 
strangers had evidently alighted. There was 
a bustle of servants below, and one of them 
was carrying a leathern trunk into the house 
immediately under her window. It was a 
leathern trunk, rather shabby than otherwise. 


Tkeo, 


and on its side was an old label, which, being 
turned toward her, she could read plainly. She 
read it, and gave a faint start. It bore, in 
dingy black letters, the word Downport.'' 

She had hardly time to turn round, before 
there was a summons at the door, and without 
waiting to be answered, Splaighton entered, 
looking at once decorous and injured. 

There are two ladies in the parlor, made- 
moiselle,’* she said (she always called Theo 
mademoiselle in these days), two English la- 
dies, who did not give their names. They 
asked for Miss North.” 

Theo looked at the woman, and turned pale. 
She did not know how or why her mother and 
Pamela should come down to this place, but 
she felt sure it was they who were awaiting her ; 
and for the first time since she had received the 
telegram, a shock of something like misgiving 
rushed upon her. Suppose, after all, she had 
not done right. Suppose she had done wrong, 
and they had heard of it, and came to reproach 
her, or worse still (poor child, it seemed worse 
still to her), to take her away — to make her 
leave her love to strangers. She began to 
tremble, and as she went out of the room, she 


156 


^^Theor 


looked back at the face upon the pillow, with a 
despairing fear that the look might be her last. 

She hardly knew how she got down the nar- 
row stair-case. She only knew that she went 
slowly. 

Then she was standing upon the mat at the 
parlor-door; then she had opened the door 
itself, and stood upon the threshold, looking in 
upon two figures just revealed to her in the 
shadow. One figure — yes, it was Pamela’s ; 
the other not her mother’s. No, the figure of 
Priscilla Gower. 

Pamela,” she cried out. Oh, Pam, don’t 
blame me.” 

She never knew how the sight of her stand- 
ing before them, like a poor little ghost, with 
her great, appealing eyes, touched one of these 
two women to the heart. 

There was something pathetic in her very 
figure — something indescribably so in her half- 
humble, half-fearing voice. 

Pamela rose up from the horse-hair sofa, and 
went to her. 

Each of the three faces was pale enough; 
but Pamela had the trouble of these two, as 
well as her own anxiousness, in her eyes. 


Theor 


IS7 


^^Theo/^ she said to her, ^‘what have you 
done ? Don’t you understand what a mad act 
you have been guilty of ? ” 

But her voice was not as sharp as usual, and 
it even softened before she finished speaking. 
She made Theo sit down, and gave her a glass 
of water to steady her nervousness. She could 
not be angry even at such indiscretion as this 
— in the face of the tremulous hands and plead- 
ing eyes. 

Where was Lady Throckmorton ! ” she 
said. What was she doing, to let you come 
alone?” 

She was away,” put in Theo, faintly. And 
the telegram said he was dying, Pam, and — I 
didn’t come alone quite. I brought Splaighton 
with me.” 

‘‘You had no right to come at all,” said 
Pam, trying to speak with asperity, and failing 
miserably. “ Mr. Oglethorpe is nothing to 
you. They should have sent for Miss Gower 
at once.” 

But the fact was the little doctor had searched 
in vain for the exact address of the lady whose 
letters he found in his patient’s portmanteau, 
when examining his papers to find some clue 


158 


“ Theo." 


to the whereabouts of his friends, and it was 
by the merest chance that he had discovered 
it in the end from Theo’s own lips, and so had 
secretly written to Broome Street, in his great 
respect and admiration for this pretty young 
nurse, who was at once so youthful and inde- 
scribably innocent. In her trouble and anx- 
ious excitement, Theo had not once thought 
of doing so herself, until during the last two 
days, and now there was no necessity for the 
action. 

And Mr. Oglethorpe,’’ interposed Miss 
Gower. 

He is up stairs,” Theo answered. The 
doctor thinks that perhaps he may be saved 
by careful nursing. I did what I could,” and 
she stopped with a click in her throat. 

The simple sight of Priscilla Gower, with her 
calm, handsome face, set her so far away from 
him, and she had seemed so near to him during 
the few last days — she felt so poor and weak 
through the contrast. And Pamela was right, 
she was nothing to him — he was nothing to 
her. This was his wife who had come to him 
now, and she — what was she ? 

She led them up-stairs to the sick-room, si- 


Theor 


IS9 


lently, and there left them. It had actually 
never occurred to her to ask herself how it was 
that the two were together. She was thinking 
only about Denis. She went to her own little 
bedroom at the top of the house — such a poor, 
little bare place as it was, as poor and bare as 
only a bedroom in a miserable little French 
road-side inn can be — only the low, white bed 
in it, a chair or two, and a barren toilet-table 
standing near the deep window. This deep, 
square window was the only part of the room 
holding any attraction for Theo. From it she 
could look out along the road, where the lum- 
bering stages made their daily appearance, and 
could see miles of fields behind the hedges, 
and watch the peasant women in their wooden 
sabots journeying on to the market towns. She 
flung herself down on the bare floor, in the re- 
cess formed by the window, and folded her 
arms upon its broad ledge. She looked out 
for a minute at the road, and the fields, and 
the hedges, and then gave vent to a single, 
sudden desperate sob. Nobody knew her pain 
— nobody would ever know it. Perhaps every- 
thing would end, and pass, and die away for- 
ever, and it would be her own pain to the end 


i6o 


“Theor 


of her life. Even Denis himself would not 
know it. He had never asked her to tell him 
that she loved him, and if he died, he would 
die without having heard a word of love from 
her lips. What would they do with her now — 
Priscilla and Pamela? Make her go back to 
Paris, and leave him to them ; and if he got 
well they might never meet again, and, per- 
haps, he would never learn who had watched 
by his bedside, when no one else on earth was 
near to try to save him. 

She dropped her face upon her folded arms, 
sobbing in a great, uncontrollable burst of re- 
bellion against her fate. 

^^No one cares for us, my darling, my angel, 
my love,’' she cried. ^‘They would take me 
from you, if they could ; but they shall not, 
my own. If it was wrong, how can I help it ? 
And, oh ! what does it matter, if all the world 
should be lost to me, if only you could be left ? 
If I could only see your dear face once every 
day, and hear your voice, even if it was ever so 
far away, and you were not speaking to me at 
all.” 

She was so wearied with her watching and 
excitement, that her grief wore itself away into 


“Thcor 


i6i 


silence and exhausted quiet. She did not 
raise her head, but let it rest upon her arms 
as she knelt, and before many minutes had 
passed, her eyes closed with utter weari- 
ness. 

She awoke with a start, half an hour later. 
Some one was standing near her. It had been 
twilight when she fell asleep, and now the room 
was so gray, that she could barely distinguish 
who it was. A soft, thick shawl had been 
dropped over her, evidently by the person in 
question. When Theo’s eyes became accus- 
tomed to the shadows, she recognized the 
erect, slender figure and handsome head. It 
was Priscilla Gower, and Priscilla Gower was 
leaning against the window, and looking down 
at her fixedly. 

^‘You were cold when I found you,’' were 
her first words, ‘‘and so I threw my shawl 
around you. You ought not to have gone to 
sleep there.” 

“ I fell asleep before I knew that I was 
tired,” said Theo. “ Thank you. Miss Gower.” 

There was a pause of a moment, before she 
summoned courage to speak again. 

“ I have not had time yet,” she hesitated, at 

II 


^‘Theor 


162 

last, to ask you how Miss Elizabeth is. I 
hope she is well ? '' 

I am sorry to say she is not,'' Priscilla re- 
plied. If she had been well, she would have 
accompanied me here. She has been very 
weak of late. It was on that account that I 
applied to your sister, when the doctor's letter 
told me I was needed." 

‘‘ I have been expecting Lady Throckmorton 
for so long, that I am afraid something has 
gone wrong," said Theo. 

To this remark Priscilla made no reply. She 
was never prone to be communicative regard- 
ing Lady Throckmorton. But she had come 
here to say something to Theodora North, and 
at last she said it. 

‘‘You have been here — how long?" she 
asked, suddenly. 

“Nearly a week," said Theo. 

“ Is Mr. Oglethorpe better, or worse, than 
when you saw him first ? " 

“ I do not know, exactly," answered the low, 
humble voice. “ Sometimes better — though I 
do not think he is ever much worse." 

Another pause, and then : 

“You were very brave to come so far alone." 


Theol 


163 


The beautiful face was uplifted all at once, 
but the next moment it dropped with a sob of 
actual anguish. 

Oh, Miss Gower ! ” the girl cried. “ Don't 
blame me ; please don’t blame me. There was 
no one else, and the telegram said he was dy- 
ing.” 

Hush,” said Priscilla Gower, with an inex- 
plicable softness in her tone. I don’t blame 
you ; I should have done the same thing in 
your place.” 

‘‘ But you ” began Theo, faintly. 

Priscilla stopped her before she had time to 
finish her sentence ; stopped her with a cold, 
clear, steady voice. 

No,” she said. ‘^You are making a mis- 
take.” 

What this brief speech meant, she did not 
explain ; but she evidently had understood 
what Theodora was going to say, and had not 
wished to hear it. ' 

But brief speech as it was, its brevity held a 
swift pang of new fear for Theo. She could 
not quite comprehend its exact meaning, but 
it struck a fresh dread to her heart. Could it 
be that she knew the truth, and was going to 


164 


^‘Theoy 


punish him? Could she be cruel enough to 
think of reproaching him at such an hour as 
this, when he lay at death’s door? Some fran- 
tic idea of falling at her stern feet and plead- 
ing for him rushed into her mind. But the 
next moment, glancing up at the erect, mo- 
tionless figure, she became dimly conscious of 
something that quieted her, she scarcely knew 
how. 

The dim room was so quiet, too ; there was 
so deep a stillness upon the whole place, it 
seemed that she gained a touch of courage for 
the instant. Priscilla was not looking at her 
now ; her statuesque face was turned toward 
the wide expanse of landscape, fast dying out, 
as it were, in the twilight grayness. Theo’s 
eyes rested on her for a few minutes in a re- 
morseful pity for, and a mute yearning toward, 
this woman whom she had so bitterly yet so 
unconsciously wronged. She would not wrong 
her more deeply still ; the wrong should end 
just as she had thought it had ended, when 
Denis dropped her hand and left her standing 
alone before the fire that last night in Paris. 
This resolve rose up in her mind with a power 
so overwhelming, that it carried before it all 


“Theor 


165 


the past of rebellion, and pain, and love. She 
would go away before he knew that she had 
been with him at all. She would herself be 
the means of bringing to pass the end she had 
only so short a time ago rebelled against so 
passionately. He should think it was his 
promised wife who had been with him from the 
first. She would make Priscilla promise that 
it should be so. Having resolved this, her new 
courage — courage, though it was so full of des- 
perate, heart-sick pain — helped her to ask a 
question bearing upon her thoughts. She 
touched the motionless figure with her hand. 

‘‘Did Pamela come here to bring me away 
she asked. 

Priscilla Gower turned, half starting, as 
though from a reverie. 

“ What did you say ? she said. 

“ Did Pamela come to take me away from 
here?’' Theo repeated. 

“ No,” she said. “ Do not be afraid of that.” 

Theo looked out of the window, straight 
over her folded arms. The answer had not 
been given unkindly, but she could not look at 
Priscilla Gower, in saying what she had to say. 

“ I am not afraid,” she said. “ I think it 


^‘Theor 


1 66 

would be best ; I must go back to Paris, or to 
— to Downport, before Mr. Oglethorpe knows 
I have been here at all. You can take care of 
him now — and there is no need that he should 
know I ever came to St. Quentin. I dare say 
I was very unwise in coming as I did ; but I 
am afraid I would do the same thing again 
under the same circumstances. If you will be 
so kind as to let him think that — that it was 
you who came 

Priscilla Gower interrupted her here, in the 
same manner, and with the same words, as she 
had interrupted her before. 

‘‘Hush!’' she said. “You are making a 
mistake, again ” 

She did not finish what she was saying. A 
hurried footstep upon the stairs stopped her ; 
and as both turned toward the door, it was 
opened, and Pamela stood upon the threshold 
and faced them, looking at each in the breath- 
less pause that followed. 

“ There has been a change,” she said. “ A 
change for the worse. I have sent for the 
doctor. You had better come down stairs, at 
once, Theodora, you have been here long 
enough to understand him better than we can.” 


“ Theo^ 


167 


And down together they went ; and the first 
thing that met their eyes as they entered the 
sick-room, was Oglethorpe, sitting up in bed, 
with wild eyes, haggard and fever-mad, strug- 
gling with his attendants, who were trying to 
hold him down, and raving aloud in the old 
strain Theo had heard so often. 

Why, Theo, my beauty, there are tears in 
your eyes. Good-by! Yes! Forgive me! 
Forget me, and good-by! For God’s sake, 
Priscilla, forgive me ! ” 


^'‘Theo. 


i68 


CHAPTER IX. 

YOU HAVE DONE NO WRONG TO ME. 

The hardest professional trouble the shriv- 
eled little French doctor had, perhaps, ever 
encountered, was the sight of the white, woe- 
stricken young face, turned up to his when 
Theodora North followed him out of the 
chamber upon the landing that night, and 
caught his arm in both her clinging hands. 

He will die now, doctor,” she said in 'an 
agonized whisper. He will die now ; I saw it 
in your face when you let his hand drop.’' 

It would have been a hard-hearted individu- 
al who would have told the exact truth in the 
face of these beautiful, agonized eyes — and the 
little doctor was anything but hard of heart. 

He patted the clinging hands quite affec- 
tionately, feeling in secret great apprehension, 
yet hiding his feelings admirably. 

My little mademoiselle,” he said (the tall 
young creature at his side was almost regal, 
head and shoulders above hirn in height), My 


^^Theor 


169 


dear little Mademoiselle Theodora, this will 
not do. If you give way, I shall give way, too. 
You must help me — we must help each other, 
as we have been doing. It is you only who 
can save him — it is you he calls for. You must 
hope with me until some day when he awakes 
to know us, and then I shall show you to him, 
and say, ‘ Here is the beautiful young made- 
moiselle who saved you.’ And then we shall 
see. Miss Theodora- — then we shall see what a 
charm those words will work.” 

But she did not seem to be comforted, as he 
expected she would be. 

No,” she said. ‘^The time will never come 
when you can say that to him. If he is ever 
well enough to know me, I must go away, and 
no one must tell him I have been here.” 

Monsieur, the doctor, looked at her over his 
spectacles, sharply. 

The pale face at once touched and suggested 
to him the outline of a little romance — and he 
had all a Frenchman’s sympathy for romance — 
monsieur, the doctor. It was une grande pas- 
sion, was it, and this tractable, beautiful young 
creature was going to make a sacrifice of all 
her hope of love, upon the altar of stern honor. 


170 


""^Theo^ 


But he made no comment, only patted her 
hand again. 

^‘Well, well, he said. ‘^We shall see, ma- 
demoiselle, we shall see. Only let us hope.’' 

The days and nights of watching, in com- 
panionship with Priscilla Gower, were a heavy 
trial to Theo. Not that any unusual coldness 
in the handsome face was added to her 
troubles as an extra burden. Both Priscilla 
and Pamela were very mindful of her comfort 
— so very mindful that their undemonstrative 
care for her cut her to the heart, sometimes. 
Yet, somehow, she felt herself as a stranger, 
without the right to watch with them. It was 
so terrible a thing to stand near the woman 
she had innocently injured, and listen with her 
to the impassioned adjurations of the lover 
who had been false, in spite of himself. It 
seemed his mind was always upon the one 
theme, and in his delirium his ravings wan- 
dered from Priscilla to Theo, and from Theo to 
Priscilla, in a misery that was not without its 
pathos. Sometimes it was that last night in 
Paris — and he went over his farewell, word for 
word ; sometimes it was his wedding-day — and 
he was frantically appealing to Priscilla for for- 


^^Theoy 1 71 

giveness, and remorsefully anathematizing him- 
self. 

They were both together in the room, one 
evening, when he was raving thus, when he 
suddenly paused for an instant, and began to 
count slowly upon his fingers, ^‘January, Feb- 
ruary, March, April, May, June, July. My 
pretty Theo, what a mistake it was — only seven 
months, and then to have lost you. Good God, 
my darling!’' and his voice became a low, ag- 
onized cry. Good God, my darling ! and I 
cannot give you up 1 ” 

Theo glanced up at Priscilla Gower, mute 
with misery for a moment. The erect, black- 
robed figure stood between herself and the fire, 
motionless, but the fixed face was so white that 
it forced a low cry from her. She could not 
bear it a second longer. She slipped upon her 
knees on the hearth-rug, and caught the hem 
of the black dress in her hands, in a tumult of 
despair and remorse. 

He does not know what he is saying,” she 
cried, breathlessly. Oh, forgive him, forgive 
him ! I will go away now, if you think I 
ought. He knows that you are better than I 
am. I will go away, and you will make him 


1/2 


^^TheoT 


happy. Oh ! I know you will make him hap- 
pier than I ever could have done, even if he 
had really loved me as — as he only thought he 
did.’^ 

A moment before, Priscilla had been gazing 
into the fire in a deep reverie. But the pas- 
sionate voice stirred her. She looked down 
into the girPs imploring eyes, without a shadow 
of resentment. 

Get up,'’ she said, a trifle huskily. ‘^You 
have done no wrong to me. Get up, Theodora, 
and look at me." 

Unsteadily as she spoke, there was so strange 
a power in her voice that Theo obeyed her. 
Wonderingly, sadly, and humbly she rose to 
her feet, and stood before Priscilla as before 
a judge. 

‘‘Will you believe what I say to you?" she 
asked. 

“Yes," answered Theo, sorrowfully. 

“Well, then, I say this to you. You have 
not sacrificed me ; you have saved me ! " 

It was, perhaps, characteristic of her that 
she did not say anything more. The subject 
dropped here, and she did not renew it. 

It was a hard battle which Denis Oglethorpe 


^‘Theor 


173 


fought, during the next fortnight, in that small 
chamber of the way-side inn, at St. Quentin ; 
and it was a stern antagonist he waged war 
against — that grim old enemy. Death ; but 
with the help of the little doctor, and his three 
nurses, he gained the victory at length, and 
conquered, only by a hair s breadth. The fierce 
fire of the brain wearing itself out left him as 
weak as a child, and for days after he returned 
to consciousness he had scarcely power to move 
a limb or utter a word. 

When first he opened his eyes upon life 
again, no one was in the room but Priscilla 
Gower; and so it was upon Priscilla Gower 
that his first conscious glance fell. 

He looked at her for a minute, before he 
found strength to speak. But at last his falter- 
ing voice came back to him. 

Priscilla,'' he whispered, weakly. Is it 
you ? Poor girl ! " 

She bent over him with a calm face, but she 
did not attempt to caress him. 

“Yes," she said. “Don't try your strength 
too much yet, Denis. It is I." 

His heavy, wearied eyes searched hers for 
an instant. 




174 


Theor 


‘^And no one else?’' he whispered, again. 

Is no one else here, Priscilla? ” 

There is no one else in the room with me,” 
she answered, quietly. The rest are up- 
stairs. You must not talk, Denis. Try to be 
quiet.” 

There was hardly any need for the caution, 
for his eyes were closing again, even then, 
through sheer exhaustion. 

Theo was in her room lying down and trying 
to rest. But half an hour later, when Pamela 
came up to her bedside, the dark eyes flew 
wide open in an instant. 

What is it, Pam,” she asked. Is he worse 
again? ” 

Pam sat down on the bedside, and looked at 
her with a sort of pity for the almost haggard 
young face drooping against the white pillow. 

No,” she said. He is better. The doctor 
said he would be, and he is. Theo, he has 
spoken to Priscilla Gower, and knows her.” 

Theo sat up in bed, white and still — all white, 
it seemed, but her large, hollow eyes. 

Pamela,” she said, I must go home.” 

‘‘Where?” said Pam. 

The white face turned toward her, pitifully. 


‘^Theor 


m 


I don't know," the girl answered, her voice 
fluttering almost as weakly as Denis's had done. 

I don’t know — somewhere, though. To Paris 
again — or to Downport," with a faint shudder. 
And then all at once she flung up her arms 
wildly, and dropped upon them, face down- 
ward. 

‘‘ Oh, Pam," she cried out, take me back to 
Downport, and let me die. I have no right 
here, and I had better go away. Oh, why did 
I ever come ! Why did I ever come? " 

She was sobbing in a hysterical, strained way 
that was fairly terrible. Pamela bent over her, 
and touched her disordered hair with a singu- 
larly light touch. The tears welled up into her 
faded eyes. Just at the moment she could 
think of nothing but the day, so far away now, 
when her own heart had been torn up by the 
roots by one fierce grasp of the hand of relent- 
less fate — the day when Arthur had died. 

Hush, Theo," she said to her ; don’t cry, 
child." 

But the feverish, excited sobs only came the 
faster, and more wildly. 

‘‘ Why did I ever come ? ’’ Theo gasped. It 
would have been better to have lived and died 


176 


“Tkeor 


in Downport — far better, I can tell you now, 
Pam, now that it is all over. I loved him, and 
he loved me, too ; he loved me always from 
the first, though we both tried so hard, so hard — 
yes we did, Pamela, to help it. And now it is 
all ended, and I must never see him again. I 
must live and die, grow old — old, and never 
see him again.'' 

There was no comfort for her. Her burst 
of grief and despair wore itself away into a 
strained quiet, and she lay at length in silence, 
Pamela at her side. But she was suffering fear- 
fully in her intense, girlish way. 

She did not say much more to Pamela, but 
she had made up her mind, before many hours 
had passed, to return to Paris. She even got 
up in the middle of the night, in her feverish 
hurry to make her slight preparations for the 
journey. She could go to Paris and wait till 
Lady Throckmorton came back, if she had not 
come back already, and then she could do as 
she was told as to the rest. She would either 
stay there or go to Downport with Pamela. 

Fortune, however, interposed. A carriage 
made its appearance, in the morning, with a 
new arrival — an arrival no less than Lady 


^‘Theor 


177 


Throckmorton herself, bearing down upon them 
in actual excitement. An untoward accident 
had called her friend from home, and taken 
her to Caen, and there, at her earnest request, 
her ladyship had accompanied her. The blun- 
der of an awkward servant had prevented her 
receiving the letters from St. Quentin, and it 
was only on her return to Paris that she had 
learned the truth. 

Intense as was her bewilderment at her pro- 
tegee's indiscretion, she felt a touch of admira- 
tion, at the simple, faithful daring of the girl's 
course. 

It is sufficiently out of the way for Priscilla 
Gower to be here, and she is his promised wife ; 
and Pamela is nearly thirty-two years old, and 
looks forty; but you, Theodora — you to run 
away from Paris, with no one but a maid ; to 
run away to nurse a man like Denis Oglethorpe. 
It actually takes away my breath. My dear, 
innocent, little simpleton, what were you think- 
ing about ? " 

It would be futile to attempt to describe her 
state of mind when she discovered that Denis 
had not learned of Theo's presence in the 
house. 


12 


178 


“Tkeo.” 


But, being quick-sighted, and keen of sense, 
she began to comprehend at last, and it was 
Priscilla Gower who assisted her to a clearer 
state of mind. Two days later, when, after a 
visit to his patient, the little doctor was pre- 
paring to take his departure, Priscilla Gower 
addressed him suddenly, as it seemed, without 
the slightest regard to her ladyship's presence. 

You think your patient improves rapidly," 
she said. 

Very rapidly," was the answer. Men like 
him always do, mademoiselle." 

She bent her head in acquiescence. 

I have a reason for asking this," she said. 

Do you think he is strong enough to bear a 
shock? " 

‘^Of what description, mademoiselle? Of 
grief, or — or of joy?" 

Of joy, monsieur," she answered, distinctly. 

“ Mademoiselle," said the doctor, ‘‘joy rarely 
kills." 

She bent her erect head again. 

She had not regarded the fact of her old 
enemy's presence ever so slightly while she 
spoke, but when the doctor was gone she ad- 
dressed her. 


Theor 


179 


I have been thinking of returning to Lon- 
don at once, if possible,’’ she said. Miss 
Gower’s ill-health renders any further absence 
a neglect. If I go, would it be possible for you 
to remain here, with Miss North ? ” 

Pamela ? ” suggested Lady Throckmorton. 

“ Theodora,” was the calm reply. 

A silence of a moment, and then the eyes 
of the two women met each other, in one 
long steady look ; Lady Throckmorton’s pro- 
foundly searching, wonderingly questioning ; 
Priscilla Gower’s steadfast, calm, almost defi- 
ant. 

Then Lady Throckmorton spoke. 

I will stay,” she said, ‘‘and she shall stay 
with me.” 

“ Thank you,” with another slight bend of 
the handsome head. “ I am going now to speak 
to Mr. Oglethorpe. When I open the door 
will you send Miss North, Theodora, to me?” 

“Yes,” answered her ladyship. 

So Priscilla Gower crossed the narrow land- 
ing, and went into the sick-room, and her lady- 
ship summoned Theodora North, and bade her 
wait, not telling her why. What passed be- 
hind the closed doors only three people can 


i8o 


^‘Theor 


tell, and those three people are Denis Ogle- 
thorpe, his wife, and the woman who, in spite 
of her coldness, was truer to him than he dared 
be to himself. There was no sound of raised 
or agitated voices ; all was calm and seemingly 
silent. Fifteen minutes passed — half an hour — 
nearly an hour, and then Priscilla Gower stepped 
out upon the landing, and Lady Throckmorton 
spoke to Theo. 

Go to her,’’ was her command. She wants 
you.” 

The poor child arose mechanically and went 
out. She did not understand why she was 
wanted — she scarcely cared. She merely went 
because she was told. But when she looked up 
at Priscilla Gower, she caught her breath and 
drew back. But Priscilla held out her hand to 
her. , 

Come,” she commanded. And before Theo 
had time to utter a word, she was drawn into 
the chamber, and the door closed. 

Denis was lying upon a pile of pillows, and, 
pale as he was, she saw in one instant that 
something had happened, and that he was not 
unhappy, whatever his fate was to be. 

I have been telling Mr. Oglethorpe,” Pris- 


‘‘Theor 


i8i 


cilia said to her, all that you have done, Theo- 
dora. I have been telling him how you forgot 
the world, and came to him when he was at 
the world’s mercy. I have told him, too, that 
five years ago he made a great mistake which 
I shared with him. It was a great mistake, 
and it had better be wiped out and done away 
with, and we have agreed that it shall be. So 
I have brought you here ” 

All the blood in Theodora North’s heart 
surged into her face, in a great rush of anguish 
and bewilderment. 

No ! no ! ” she cried out. No ! no ! only 
forgive him, and let me go. Only forgive him, 
and let him begin again. He must love you — 
he does love you. It was my fault — not his. 
Oh ” 

Priscilla stopped her, smiling, in a half-sad 
way. 

Hush ! ” she said, quietly. ‘‘ You don’t 
understand me. The fault was only the fault 
of the old blunder. Don’t try to throw your 
happiness away, Theodora. You were not 
made to miss it.. I have not been blind all 
these months. How could I be? I only 
wanted to wait, and make sure that this was 


I82 


Theor 


not a blunder, too. I have known it from the 
first. I have done now — the old tangle is un- 
raveled. Go to him, Theo, he wants you.’* 

The next instant the door closed upon Pris- 
cilla, as she went out, and Theodora North un- 
derstood clearly what she had before never 
dared to dream of. 

There was one brief, breathless pause, and 
then Denis Oglethorpe held out his arms. 

‘‘My darling,” he said. “Mine, my own.” 

She slipped down by his side, beautiful, trem- 
ulous, with glowing cheeks and tear-wet eyes. 
She remembered Priscilla Gower then. 

“ Oh, my love ! ” she cried. “ She is better 
than I am, braver and more noble ; but she can 
never love you better, or be more faithful and 
true than I will be. Only try me ; only try me, 
my darling.” 

Three months subsequently, when Pamela 
and Priscilla had settled down again to the 
routine of their old lives, there was a quiet 
wedding celebrated at Paris — a quiet wedding, 
though it was under Lady Throckmorton’s pat- 
ronage. In their tender remembrance of Pris- 
cilla Gower, it was made a quiet wedding — so 

-o 


Theol 


183 


quiet, indeed, that the people who made the 
young English beauty’s romance a topic of 
conversation and nine day’s wonder, scarcely 
knew it had ended. 

And in Broome Street, Priscilla Gower read 
the announcement in the paper, with only the 
ghost of a faint pang. 

I suppose I am naturally a cold woman,” 
she wrote to Pamela North, with whom she 
sustained a faithful correspondence. ‘‘ I will 
acknowledge, at least, to a certain lack of en- 
thusiasm. I can be faithful, but I cannot be 
impassioned. It is impossible for me to suffer 
as your pretty Theo could, as it is equally 
impossible for me to love as she did. I have 
lost something, of course, but I have not lost 
all.” 

Between these two women there arose a 
friendship which was never dissolved. Perhaps 
the one thing they had in common drew them 
toward each other; at any rate, they were 
faithful ; and even when, three years later, 
Priscilla Gower married a man who loved her, 
and having married him, was a calmly happy 
woman, they were faithful to each other still. 


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L'*i^ 


A. NEW VOLUME 

In the “Common Sense in the Household” Series. 


THE DINNER YEAR-BOOK. 

By MARION HARLAND, 

Author of Common Sense in the Household,” ” Breakfast, 
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WITH SIX ORIGINAL FULL-PAGE COLORED PLATES. 

One vol. 12mo, 720 pages, beautifully bound in cloth. Price $2.25, 

Kitchen Edition in Oil-Cloth Covers at same Prick. 


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ROXY. 

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work of strange power and poetry.^-— Y. Worlix 


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for the Lawn and for Munting ; with Many Chapters of 
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DR. HOLLAND’S WORKS 


NICHOLAS MINTURN, 

THE STORY OF SEVENOAKS. Illustrated, . 

EVERY DAY TOPICS, 

ARTHUR BONNICASTLE. Illustrated, . 

THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE; a Poem, 

•BITTER SWEET; a Poem, 

♦KATHRINA; a Poem, 

•LETTERS TO YOUNG PEOPLE, 

•GOLD FOIL hammered from Popular Proverbs, . 

•LESSONS IN LIFE, 

•PLAIN TALKS on Familiar Subjects, . 

LETTERS TO THE JONESES, .... 

MISS GILBERT’S CAREER, .... 

BAY PATH, 

THE MARBLE PROPHECY and other Poems, . 

THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE, Idustrated edition, 500 
KATHRINA. Illustrated edition ... 

GARNERED SHEAVES. Poetical Works. Red line 
edition, beautifully illustrated, .... 

•These six volumes are issued in cabinet size (i6mo), “Brightwood 
Edition,” at the same prices as above. 



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*;p* The above books for sale by all bookselTrs, or vnll be sent^ J)ost or exfress 
charges paid, upon receipt of the price by the publishers, 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 

743 AND 745 Broadway, New York. 


JUST TUBUISHEU. 


THE MOST POPULAR BOOK OF THE SEASON. 


RUDDER GRANGE, 

By FRANK R. STOCKTON. 


One Volume, Square 12mo, Cloth, 


THE RUDDER GRANGE PAPERS — which have 

been so keenly enjoyed by the readers of SCRIBNER, that the 
doings of their hero and heroine are already laughingly quoted 
in hundreds of households — are now published in book form. 

The adventures of Mr. Stockton’s young couple in solving 
the problem of housekeeping on a small income, and the 
ingenuity of their devices, are as irresistible as the capital 
quiet humor with which they are told. 

Euphemia’s naivete and intense seriousness, and her 
absolutely woman-like way of approaching every question, 
are so perfectly typical, too, that she alone is enough to have 
made “ Rudder Grange ” famous. 

All of the little household are hardly less excellent than 
this inimitable character ; Pomona, the servant who looks at 
life through the medium of dime-novels, being almost as 
worthy of an enduring celebrity as her mistress. 


*;ii* The above book for sale by all booksellers y or will be senty ^repaidy upon 
receipt of price^ by 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

743 AND 745 Broadway, New York, 


^ ISTEJW BOOK 

By tlie Author of ‘^That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.” 


SU RLY TIM 

AND OTHER STORIES. 

By MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, 

Author of^ That Lass o’Lo7vrie^s.** 

One volume, small i2mo. Cloth extra, $1.25, 


The volume includes eight of Mrs. Burnett’s shorter stories which t^avc 
appeared in the magazines during the last few years. It is needless to say 
that these have been among the most popular tales that have lately been 
written. Surly Tim (told in Lancashire dialect), which gives the title 
to the book, is perhaps better known than any short story yet published 
in Scribner’s. 

The present collection, including Esmeralda^ Lodusky, Le Monsieur 
de la Petite Dame, etc. , shows that the author can be successful in other 
scenes than those, the treatment of which has gained her so much critical 
praise and such wide popularity. 

CRITICAL NOTICES. 

“They are powerful and pathetic stories, and will touch the sympathies of all readers.” 
— The Commo7i7vealth, Boston. 

“ A good service has been rendered to all lovers of good fiction by the publication of 
these stories in this permanent form.” — The Evening Mail. 

Mrs. Burnett has made for herself a reputation which places her in the front rank of 
female novelists.’” — The Baptist Weekly. 

“ The authoress has taken her place as one of the best novelists of our time, and these 
stories are interesting as showing the steps up which she has ascended to her acknow- 
ledged eminence.” — The Advance, 

‘ Each of these narratives have a distinct spirit, and can be profitably read by all 
classes of people. They are told not only with true art but with deep pathos.” — Boston 
Post. 

“ The stories collected In the present volume are uncommonly vigorous and truthful 
stories of human nature.” — Chicago Tribune. 

“ Each story is very readable, and the whole volume will be well received as it well 
deserves.” — The Chi. histructor, Phila. 


The above book for sale by all booksellers, or 7vill be sent, post or express 
‘harges paid, u-bon receipt of the price by the publishers. 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 

743 AND 74S Broadway, New York 


t>e&t orig'inal nO'Vei that has appgartd tn this country Jor mat^ 
94 ars .** —Phil. Press. 


THAT LASS 0’ LOWRIE’S 

By FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. 


PRESS NOTIC 'S 

**Thc publication of a story like ‘That Lass o’ Lowrie a is a red-letter day ia 
die world of literature.” — iV. V. Herald. 

“We know of no more powerful work from a woman’s hand in th« 
English language, not even excepting the best of George Eliot’s.” — Boston Transfri^t. 

“ It creates a sensation among book readers.” — Hartford Times, 

“The novel is one of the very best of recent fictions, and the novelist i£ here- 
after a person of rank and consideration in letters.” — Hartford Courant. 

“The author might have named her book ‘ Joan Lowrie, Lady,’ and it is 
worthy a place in the family libraiy beside Miss Muloch’s ‘John Hali- 
fax, Gentleman,’ and George Eliot’s ‘ Adam Bede.’” — Boston Watchman. 

“The story is one of mark, and let none of our readers who enioy the truest 
artistic work overlook it.” — Congregationalist. 

“ Is written with great dramatic pcwer.” — H. Y. Observer. 

“ Of absorbing interest, and is as unique in its style and its incidents as it is 
entertaining.” — Worcester Spy. 

“ It *5 a tale of English pit life, and graphic, absorbing, irresistible, from 
first page to last.” — Boston Commonivealth. 

“ It is a healthy, vigorous story, such as would find a warm welcome in an3f 
househol d. ’ ’ — Baltimore Bulletm. 

“Unlike most of the current works of fiction, this novel is a study. It cannot be 
Bifted at a glance, nor fully understood at a single reading, so fruitful and com 
prehensive is its word and character painting.” — Boston Post. 

Price, Paper Covers, 90 cents; or SI. 50 Extra Cloth 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS,!"^- 

743 AND 745 Broadway, New York. 







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